Ex  Libris 
C.  K.  OGDEN 


WORDS; 


THEIR  USE  AND   ABUSE. 


WILLIAM   MATHEWS,   LL.D., 

AUTHOR  OP  "GETTING  ON  IN  THE  WORLD,"  AND  "THE  GREAT  CONVERSERS, 
AND  OTHER  ESSAYS." 


Die  Sprache  ist  nichts  anderes  als  der  in  die  Erscheinung  tretende  Gedanke 
and  beide  sind  innerlich  nur  eins  und  dasselbe.—  BECKER. 


FOURTH    THOUSAND. 


CHICAGO: 
S.  C.  GRIGGS   AND    COMPANY. 

1876. 


COPYRIGHT,  1876, 
BY  S.  C.  QRIGGS  AND  COMPANY. 


KM'iHT  &  LEONARD,  PRINTERS,  CHICAGO. 


Electrotjptd  by  A.  ZEESE  i  CO., 


Stack 
Anne* 


TO 

MARTIN  B.  ANDERSON,  LL.D. 

PRESIDENT  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  KOCUESTEK, 

THIS  WORK  IS  INSCRIBED 
WITH    THE    SINCERE    REGARDS    OF 

THE  AUTHOR. 


Words  are  lighter  than  the  cloud  foam 

Of  the  restless  ocean  spray; 
Vainer  than  the  trembling  shadow 

That  the  next  hour  steals  away; 
By  the  fall  of  summer  rain-drops 

Is  the  air  as  deeply  stirred; 
And  the  rose  leaf  that  we  tread  on 

Will  outlive  a  word. 

Yet  on  the  dull  silence  breaking 

With  a  lightning  flash,  a  word, 
Bearing  endless  desolation 

On  its  blighting  wings,  I  heard. 
Earth  can  forge  no  keener  weapon, 

Dealing  surer  death  and  pain, 
And  the  cruel  echo  answered 

Through  long  years  again. 

I  have  known  one  word  hang  star-like 

O'er  a  dreary  waste  of  years, 
And  it  only  shone  the  brighter 

Looked  at  through  a  mist  of  tears, 
While  a  weary  wanderer  gathered 

Hope  and  heart  on  life's  dark  way, 
By  its  faithful  promise  shining 

Clearer  day  by  day. 

I  have  known  a  spirit  calmer 

Then  the  calmest  lake,  and  clear 
As  the  heavens  that  gazed  upon  it, 

With  no  wave  of  hope  or  fear; 
But  a  storm  had  swept  across  it, 

And  its  deepest  depths  were  stirred, 
Never,  never  more  to  slumber, 

Only  by  a  word. 

ADELAIDE  A.  PROCTER. 


Language  and  thought  are  inseparable.  Words  without  thought  are  dead 
sounds;  thoughts  without  words  are  nothing.  To  think  is  to  speak  low;  to 
speak  is  to  think  aloud.  The  word  is  the  thought  incarnate. —  MAX  MUL.LER. 

A  winged  word  hath  struck  ineradically  in  a  million  hearts,  and  enven- 
omed every  hour  throughout  their  hard  pulsation.  On  a  winged  word  hath 
hung  the  destiny  of  nations.  On  a  winged  word  hath  human  wisdom  been 
willing  to  cast  the  immortal  soul,  and  to  leave  it  dependent  for  all  its  future 
happiness.— W.  S.  LANDOR. 

Words  are  things;  and  a  small  drop  of  ink,  falling  like  dew  upon  a  thought, 
produces  that  which  makes  thousand,  perhaps  millions,  think.— BYRON. 

A  dead  language  is  full  of  all  monumental  remembrances  of  the  people 
who  spoke  it.  Their  swords  and  their  shields  are  in  it;  their  faces  are  pic- 
tured on  its  walls;  and  their  very  voices  ring  still  through  its  recesses. — 
B.  W.  DWIGHT. 

Every  sentence  of  the  great  writer  is  like  an  autograph.  .  .  If  Milton  had 
endorsed  a  bill  of  exchange  with  half-a-dozen  blank  verse  lines,  it  would  be  as 
good  as  his  name,  and  would  be  accepted  as  good  evidence  in  court.— ALEX- 
ANDER SMITH. 

If  there  be  a  human  talent,  let  it  get  into  the  tongue,  and  make  melody 
with  that  organ.  The  talent  that  can  say  nothing  for  itself,  what  is  it?  Noth- 
ing; or  a  thing  that  can  do  mere  drudgeries,  and  at  best  make  money  by 
railways.—  CARLTLE. 

Human  language  may  be  polite  and  powerless  in  itself,  uplifted  with  diffi- 
culty into  expression  by  the  high  thoughts  it  utters,  or  it  may  in  itself  be- 
come so  saturated  with  warm  life  and  delicious  association  that  every  sentence 
shall  palpitate  and  thrill  with  the  mere  fascination  of  the  syllables.— T.  W. 

HlGGINSON. 

Six  little  words  do  claim  me  every  day, 

Shall,  must  and  can,  with  will  and  ought  and  may. 

SHALL  is  the  law  within  inscribed  by  heaven, 

The  goal  to  which  I  by  myself  am  driven. 

MUST  is  the  bound  not  to  be  overpast, 

Where  by  the  world  and  nature  I'm  held  fast. 

CAN  is  the  measure  of  my  personal  dower 

Of  deed  and  art,  science  and  practised  power. 

WILL  is  my  noblest  crown,  my  brightest,  best, 

Freedom's  my  own  seal  upon  my  soul  imprest; 

OUGHT  the  inscription  on  the  seal  set  fair 

On  Freedom's  open  door,  a  bolt  'tis  there. 

And  lastly,  MAT,  'mong  many  courses  mixed, 

The  vaguely  possible  by  the  moment  fixed. 

SHALL,  MUST  and  CAN,  with  WILL  and  OUGHT  and  MAT, 

These  are  the  six  that  claim  me  every  day. 

Only  when  God  doth  teach,  do  I  know  what  each  day, 

I  shall,  I  must,  I  can,  I  will,  I  ought,  I  may. 

Translated  from  the  German  for  the  N.  Y.  School  Journal. 


PREFACE. 


origin  of  this  book  is  as  follows:  —  Some 
-L  twenty  years  ago,  the  author,  having  considera- 
ble leisure,  wrote  a  lecture  on  "Words, —  their  Sig- 
nificance, Use  and  Abuse,"  which  he  delivered  before 
a  number  of  Literary  Societies  and  Lecture  Associa- 
tions. Being  very  much  interested  in  the  subject,  he 
continued  from  time  to  time  to  make  notes  of  his 
thoughts  and  readings  upon  it,  till  at  length  the  lecture 
grew  into  a  volume. 

The  author  is  well  aware  that  in  his  criticisms  on 
the  misuses  and  abuses  of  words,  he  has  exposed  him- 
self to  criticism ;  and  it  may  be  that  he  has  been  guilty 
of  some  of  the  very  sins  which  he  has  condemned. 
If  so,  he  sins  in  good  company,  since  nearly  all  of 
his  predecessors,  who  have  written  on  the  same  theme, 
have  been  found  guilty  of  a  similar  inconsistency,  from 
Lindley  Murray  down  to  Dean  Alford,  Moon,  Marsh, 
and  Fowler.  If  the  public  is  to  hear  no  philological 
sermons  till  the  preachers  are  faultless,  it  will  have 
to  wait  forever.  "  The  only  impeccable  authors,"  says 
Hazlitt,  "are  those  that  never  wrote."  Any  just, 
well-meant  criticism,  however  severe,  the  author  will 


8  PREFACE. 

gratefully  welcome;  to  that  which  springs  from  an 
instinctive  love  of  fault-finding,  he  is  apt  to  be  thick- 
skinned.  In  the  words  of  Erasmus :  "  Nos  ad  utrum- 
que  juxta  parati  sumus,  ut  vel  rationem  reddamus,  si 
quid  recte  monuimus,  vel  ingenue  confiteamur  errorem, 
sicubi  lapsi  deprehendimur." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  the  work  is  de- 
signed for  popular  reading,  rather  than  for  scholars. 
How  much  the  author  is  indebted  to  others,  he  can- 
not say.  He  has  been  traveling,  in  his  own  way, 
over  old  and  well-worn  ground,  and  has  picked  up 
his  materials  freely  from  all  the  sources  within  his 
reach.  Non  nova,  sed  nove,  has  been  his  aim ;  he 
regrets  that  he  has  not  accomplished  it  more  to  his 
satisfaction.  The  world,  it  has  been  truly  said,  does 
not  need  new  thoughts  so  much  as  it  needs  that  old 
thoughts  be  recast.  There  are  some  writers,  however, 
to  whom  he  has  been  particularly  indebted ;  and 
therefore  a  list  of  their  names,  with  the  books  con- 
sulted, has  been  appended  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 


CONTENTS 

• 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  WORDS 11 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  MORALITY  IN  WORDS      .        .        .        .        .        .        .56 

CHAPTER  III. 
(TRAND  WORDS         .  .....      94 

CHAPTER  IV. 
SMALL  WORDS 123 

CHAPTER  V. 
WORDS  WITHOUT  MEANING 137 

CHAPTER  VI. 
SOME  ABUSES  OF  WORDS 152 

CHAPTER  VII. 
SAXON  WORDS,  OR  ROMANIC? 168 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  SECRET  OF  APT  WORDS 182 


1(1  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  SECRET  OF  APT  WORDS  (continued)      ....    200 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  FALLACIES  IN  WORDS '    .        .    212 

CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  FALLACIES  IN  WORDS  (continued) 236 

CHAPTER  XII. 
NICKNAMES 263 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
CURIOSITIES  OF  LANGUAGE 280 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
COMMON  IMPROPRIETIES  OF  SPEECH 326 

INDEX  .    372 


WORDS;   THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS. 

"Speech  is  morning  to  the  mind; 
It  spreads  the  beauteous  images  abroad, 
Which  else  lie  dark  and  buried  in  the  soul." 

La  parole,  cette  main  de  1'esprit. —  CHABBON. 
Syllables  govern  the  world. —  COKE. 

TO  the  thoughtful  man,  who  has  reflected  on  the  com- 
mon operations  of  life,  which,  but  for  their  common- 
ness, would  be  deemed  full  of  marvel,  few  things  are  more 
wonderful  than  the  origin,  structure,  history  and  signifi- 
cance of  words.  The  tongue  is  the  glory  of  man;  for 
though  animals  have  memory,  will  and  intellect,  yet  lan- 
guage, which  gives  us  a  duplicate  and  multipliable  exist- 
ence,—  enabling  mind  to  communicate  with  mind, —  is  the 
Rubicon  which  they  never  have  dared  to  cross.  The  dog 
barks  as  it  barked  at  the  creation,  and  the  crow  of  the  cock 
is  the  same  to-day  as  when  it  startled  the  ear  of  repentant 
Peter.  The  song  of  the  lark  and  the  howl  of  the  leop- 
ard have  continued  as  unchangeable  as  the  concentric 
circles  of  the  spider  and  the  waxen  hexagon  of  the  bee; 
and  even  the  stoutest  champion  of  the  ourang-outang  the- 
ory of  man's  origin  will  admit  that  no  process  of  natu- 


12  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ral  selection  has  yet  distilled  significant  words  out  of  the 
cries  of  beasts  or  the  notes  of  birds.  Speech  is  a  divine 
gift.  It  is  the  last  seal  of  dignity  stamped  by  God  upon 
His  intelligent  offspring,  and  proves,  more  conclusively 
than  his  upright  form,  or  his  looks  "  commercing  with 
the  skies,"  that  he  was  made  in  the  image  of  God.  With- 
out this  crowning  gift  to  man,  even  reason  would  have 
been  comparatively  valueless;  for  he  would  have  felt  him- 
self to  be  imprisoned  even  when  at  large,  solitary  in  the 
midst  of  a  crowd;  and  the  society  of  the  wisest  of  his 
race  would  have  been  as  uninstructive  as  that  of  barbari- 
ans and  savages.  The  rude  tongue  of  a  Patagonian  or 
Australian  is  full  of  wonders  to  the  philosopher;  but  as 
we  ascend  in  the  scale  of  being  from  the  uncouth  sounds 
which  express  the  desires  of  a  savage  to  the  lofty  periods 
of  a  Cicero  or  a  Chatham,  the  power  of  words  expands 
until  it  attains  to  regions  far  above  the  utmost  range  of 
our  capacity.  It  designates,  as  Novalis  has  said,  God  with 
three  letters,  and  the  infinite  with  as  many  syllables, 
though  the  ideas  conveyed  by  these  words  are  immeasur- 
ably beyond  the  utmost  grasp  of  man.  In  every  relation 
of  life,  at  every  moment  of  our  active  being,  in  every 
thing  we  think  or  do,  it  is  on  the  meaning  and  inflection 
of  a  word  that  the  direction  of  our  thoughts,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  our  will,  turn.  The  soundness  of  our  reason- 
ings, the  clearness  of  our  belief  and  of  our  judgment, 
the  influence  we  exert  upon  others,  and  the  manner  in 
which  we  are  impressed  by  our  fellow-men, —  all  depend 
upon  a  knowledge  of  the  value  of  words.  It  is  in  lan- 
guage that  the  treasures  of  human  knowledge,  the  dis- 
coveries of  Science,  and  the  achievements  of  Art  are 
chiefly  preserved;  it  is  language  that  furnishes  the  poet 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF    WORDS.  13 

with  the  airy  vehicle  for  his  most  delicate  fancies,  the 
orator  with  the  elements  of  his  electrifying  eloquence, 
the  savant  with  the  record  of  his  classification,  the  meta- 
physician with  the  means  of  his  sharp  distinction,  the 
statesman  with  the  drapery  of  his  vast  design,  and  the 
philosopher  with  the  earthly  instrument  of  his  heaven- 
reaching  induction. 

"  Words,"  said  the  fierce  Mirabeau,  in  reply  to  an  oppo- 
nent in  the  National  Assembly,  "  are  things;"  and  truly  they 
were  such  when  he  thundered  them  forth  from  the  Tribune, 
full  of  life,  meaning  and  power.  Words  are  always  things, 
when  coming  from  the  lips  of  a  master-spirit,  and  instinct 
with  his  own  individuality.  Especially  is  this  true  of  so 
impassioned  orators  as  Mirabeau,  who  have  thoughts  impa- 
tient for  words,  not  words  starving  for  thoughts,  and  who 
but  give  utterance  to  the  spirit  breathed  by  the  whole  Third 
Estate  of  a  nation.  Their  words  are  not  merely  things,  but 
living  things,  endowed  with  power  not  only  to  communicate 
ideas,  but  to  convey,  as  by  spiritual  conductors,  the  shock 
and  thrill  which  attended  their  birth.  Look  at  the  "  winged 
words "  of  old  Homer,  into  which  he  breathed  the  breath 
of  his  own  spiritual  life, —  how  long  have  they  kept  on  the 
wing !  For  twenty-five  or  thirty  centuries  they  have  main- 
tained their  flight  across  gulfs  of  time  in  which  empires 
have  suffered  shipwreck  and  the  languages  of  common  life 
have  sunk  into  oblivion;  and  they  are  still  full  of  the  life- 
blood  of  immortal  youth. 

"  How  forcible,"  says  Job,  "  are  right  words! "  "  A  word 
fitly  spoken,"  says  Solomon,  "  is  like  apples  of  gold  in 
pictures  of  silver."  Few  persons  have  duly  estimated  the 
power  of  words.  In  anatomical  museums  one  will  some- 
times see  the  analysis  of  a  man7 —  that  is,  the  mere  chem- 


14  WORDS;   THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ical  constituents,  so  much  lime,  so  much  albumen,  so  much 
phosphorus,  etc.  These  dead  substances  fail  not  more 
utterly  in  representing  a  living  man,  with  his  mental  and 
moral  force,  than  do  the  long  rows  of  words  in  the  lexicon  of 
exhibiting  the  power  with  which,  as  signs  of  ideas,  they 
may  be  endowed.  Language  has  been  truly  pronounced 
the  armory  of  the  human  mind,  which  contains  at  once 
the  trophies  of  its  past  and  the  weapons  of  its  future  con- 
quests. Look  at  a  Webster  or  a  Calhoun,  when  his  mighty 
enginery  of  thought  is  in  full  operation;  how  his  words 
tell  upon  his  adversary,  battering  down  the  intrenchments 
of  sophistry  like  shot  from  heavy  ordnance!  Cannon-shot 
are  very  harmless  things  when  piled  up  for  show;  so  are 
words  when  tiered  up  in  the  pages  of  a  dictionary,  with 
no  mind  to  select  and  send  them  home  to  the  mark.  But 
let  them  receive  the  vitalizing  touch  of  genius,  and  how 
they  leap  with  life;  with  what  tremendous  energy  are 
they  endowed!  When  the  little  Corsican  bombarded  Cadi/ 
at  the  distance  of  five  miles,  it  was  deemed  the  very  tri- 
umph of  engineering;  but  what  was  this  paltry  range  to 
that  of  words,  which  bombard  the  ages  yet  to  come? 
"  Scholars,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "  are  men  of  peace. 
They  carry  no  arms,  but  their  tongues  are  sharper  than 
Actus  his  razors;  their  pens  carry  further  and  make  a 
louder  report  than  thunder.  I  had  rather  stand  the  shock 
of  a  basalisco  than  the  fury  of  a  merciless  pen." 

The  words  which  a  man  of  genius  selects  are  as  much 
his  own  as  his  thoughts.  They  are  not  the  dress,  but  the 
incarnation,  of  his  thought,  as  the  body  contains  the  soul. 
Analyze  a  speech  by  either  of  the  great  orators  we  have 
just  named,  and  a  critical  study  will  satisfy  you  that  the 
crushing  force  of  his  arguments  lies  not  less  in  the  nicety 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE    OF   WORDS.  15 

and  skill  with  which  the  words  are  chosen,  than  in  the 
granite- like  strength  of  thought.  Attempt  to  substitute 
other  words  for  those  that  are  used,  and  you  will  find 
that  the  latter  are  part  and  parcel  of  the  author's  mind 
and  conception;  that  every  word  is  accommodated  with 
marvellous  exactness  to  all  the  sinuosities  of  the  thought; 
that  not  the  least  of  them  can  be  changed  without  marr- 
ing the  completeness  and  beauty  of  the  author's  idea.  If 
any  other  words  can  be  used  than  those  which  a  writer 
does  use,  he  is  a  bungling  rhetorician,  and  skims  only  the 
surface  of  his  theme.  True  as  this  is  of  the  best  prose, 
it  is  doubly  true  of  the  best  poetry:  it  is  a  linked  strain 
throughout.  It  has  been  said  by  one  who  was  himself  a 
consummate  master  of  language,  that  if,  in  the  recollection 
of  any  passage  of  Shakespeare,  a  word  shall  escape  your 
memory,  you  may  hunt  through  the  forty  thousand  words 
in  the  language,  and  not  one  shall  fit  the  vacant  place  but 
that  which  the  poet  put  there.  Though  he  uses  only  the 
simplest  and  homeliest  terms,  yet  "you  might  as  well 
think,"  says  Coleridge,  "  of  pushing  a  brick  out  of  a  wall 
with  your  forefinger,  as  attempt  to  remove  a  word  out  of 
any  of  the  finished  passages  of  Shakespeare."  Who  needs 
to  be  told  how  much  the  wizard  sorcery  of  Milton  depends 
on  the  words  he  uses  ?  It  is  not  in  what  he  directly  tells 
us  that  his  spell  lies,  but  in  the  immense  suggestiveness 
of  his  verse. 

In  Homer,  it  has  been  justly  said,  there  are  no  hidden 
meanings,  no  deeps  of  thought  into  which  the  soul  descends 
for  lingering  contemplation;  no  words  which  are  key- 
notes, awakening  the  spirit's  melodies, — 

"Untwisting  all  the  links  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony." 


16  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

But  here  is  the  realm  of  Milton's  mastery.  He  electrifies 
the  mind  through  conductors.  His  words,  as  Macaulay 
declares,  are  charmed.  Their  meaning  bears  no  proportion 
to  their  effect.  "  No  sooner  are  they  pronounced,  than  the 
past  is  present  and  the  distant  near.  New  forms  of  beauty 
start  at  once  into  existence,  and  all  the  burial  places  of  the 
memory  give  up  their  dead.  Change  the  structure  of  the 
sentence,  substitute  one  synonyme  for  another,  and  the 
whole  effect  is  destroyed.  The  spell  loses  its  power;  and  he 
who  should  then  hope  to  conjure  with  it  would  find  himself 
as  much  mistaken  as  Cassim  in  the  Arabian  tale,  when  he 
stood  crying  '  Open  Wheat,'  '  Open  Barley,'  to  the  door 
which  obeyed  no  sound  but  '  Open  Sesame.'  " 

The  force  and  significance  which  Milton  can  infuse  into 
the  simplest  word  are  strikingly  shown  in  his  description 
of  the  largest  of  land  animals,  in  "  Paradise  Lost."  In  a 
single  line  the  unwieldy  monster  is  so  represented  as  coming 
from  the  ground,  that  we  almost  involuntarily  start  aside 
from  fear  of  being  crushed  by  the  living  mass: — 

"Behemoth,  the  biggest  born  of  earth,  upheaved 
His  vastnese."  • 

It  is  this  necromantic  power  over  language, —  this  skill 
in  striking  "  the  electric  chain  with  which  we  are  darkly 
bound,"  till  its  vibrations  thrill  along  the  chords  of  the 
heart,  and  its  echoes  ring  in  all  the  secret  chambers  of  the 
soul, —  which  blinds  us  to  the  absurdities  of  "  Paradise 
Lost."  While  following  this  mighty  magician  of  language 
through 

"many  a  winding  bout 

Of  linked  Bweetness  long  drawn  out," 

we  overlook  the  incongruity  with  which  he  makes  angels 
fight  with  "  villainous  saltpetre "  and  divinities  talk  Gal- 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  17 

vinism.  puts  the  subtleties  of  Greek  syntax  into  the  >mouth 
of  Eve,  and  exhibits  the  Omnipotent  Father  arguing  like  a 
school  divine.  As  with  Milton,  so  with  his  great  prede- 
cessor, Dante.  Wondrous  as  is  his  power  of  creating  pic- 
tures in  a  few  lines,  he  owes  it  mainly  to  the  directness, 
simplicity,  and  intensity  of  his  language.  In  him  "  the  in- 
visible becomes  visible;  darkness  becomes  palpable;  silence 
describes  a  character;  a  word  acts  as  a  flash  of  lightning, 
which  displays  some  gloomy  neighborhood  where  a  tower 
is  standing,  with  dreadful  faces  at  the  window." 

The  difference  in  the  use  of  words  by  different  writers 
is  as  great  as  that  in  the  use  of  paints  by  great  and  poor 
artists;  and  there  is  as  great  a  difference  in  the  effect  upon 
the  understanding  and  the  sensibilities  of  their  readers. 
Who  that  is  familiar  with  Bacon's  writings  can  ever  fail  to 
recognize  one  of  his  sentences,  so  dense  with  pith,  and 
going  to  the  mark  as  if  from  a  gun?  In  him,  it  has  been 
remarked,  language  was  always  the  flexible  and  obedient 
instrument  of  the  thought;  not,  as  in  the  productions  of  a 
lower  order  of  mind,  its  rebellious  and  recalcitrant  slave. 
"All  authors  below  the  highest  seem  to  use  the  mighty  gift 
of  expression  with  a  certain  secret  timidity,  lest  the  lever 
should  prove  too  ponderous  for  the  hand  that  essays  to 
wield  it;  or  rather,  they  resemble  the  rash  student  in  the 
old  legend,  who  was  overmastered  by  the  demons  which  he 
had  unguardedly  provoked."  Emerson,  in  speaking  of  the 
intense  vitality  of  Montaigne's  words,  says  that  if  you  cut 
them,  they  would  bleed.  Joubert,  in  revealing  the  secret 
of  Rousseau's  charm,  says:  "He  imparted,  if  I  may  so 
speak,  bowels  of  feeling  to  the  words  he  used  (donna  des 
entrailles  a  tous  les  mots),  and  poured  into  them  such  a 
charm,  sweetness  so  penetrating,  energy  so  puissant,  that 


18  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

his  writings  have  an  effect  upon  the  soul  something  like 
that  of  those  illicit  pleasures  which  steal  away  our  taste  and 
intoxicate  our  reason." 

How  much  is  the  magic  of  Tennyson's  verse  due  to 
"  the  fitting  of  aptest  words  to  things,"  which  we  find  on 
every  page  of  his  poetry!  He  has  not  only  the  vision. 
but  the  faculty  divine,  and  no  secret  of  his  art  is  hid 
from  him.  Foot  and  pause,  rhyme  and  rhythm,  allitera- 
tion; subtle,  penetrative  words  that  touch  the  very  quick 
of  the  truth;  cunning  words  that  have  a  spell  in  them 
for  the  memory  and  the  imagination:  old  words,  with 
their  weird  influence, 

"  Bright  through  the  rubbish  of  some  hundred  years," 

and  words  used  for  the  occasion  in  their  primary  sense, 
are  all  his  ministers,  and  obedient  to  his  will.  An  Ameri- 
can writer,  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman,  in  speaking  of  Swin- 
burne's marvellous  gift  of  melody,  asks:  "  Who  taught 
him  all  the  hidden  springs  of  melody?  He  was  born  a 
tamer  of  words,  a  subduer  of  this  most  stubborn,  yet  most 
copious  of  the  literary  tongues.  In  his  poetry  we  dis- 
cover qualities  we  did  not  know  were  in  the  language  — 
a  softness  that  seemed  Italian,  a  rugged  strength  we 
thought  was  German,  a  blithe  and  debonair  lightness  \vc 
despaired  of  capturing  from  the  French.  He  has  added 
a  score  of  new  stops  and  pedals  to  the  instrument.  He 
lias  introduced,  partly  from  other  tongues,  stanzaic  forms, 
measures  and  effects  untried  before,  and  has  brought  out 
the  swiftness  and  force  of  metres  like  the  anapestic,  car- 
rying each  to  perfection  at  a  single  trial.  Words  in  his 
hands  are  like  the  ivory  balls  of  a  juggler,  and  all  words 
seem  to  be  in  his  hands." 

Words,  with  such  men,  are  "nimble  and  airy  servitors." 


THE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  19 

not  masters,  and  from  the  exquisite  skill  with  which  they 
are  •  chosen,  and  the  firmness  with  which  they  are  knit 
together,  are  sometimes  "  half  battles,  stronger  than  most 
men's  deeds."  What  is  the  seoret  of  the  weird-like  power 
of  De  Quincey  ?  Is  it  not  that,  of  all  late  English  writers,  he 
has  the  most  imperial  dominion  over  the  resources  of  ex- 
pression,—  that  he  has  weighed,  as  in  a  hair- balance,  the 
precise  significance  of  every  word  he  uses;  that  he  has 
conquered  so  completely  the  stubbornness  of  our  vernacu- 
lar as  to  render  it  a  willing  slave  to  all  the  whims  and 
caprices,  the  ever-shifting,  kaleidoscopic  variations  of  his 
thought?  Turn  to  whatever  page  you  will  of  his  writ- 
ings, and  it  is  not  the  thorough  grasp  of  his  subject,  the 
enormous  erudition,  the  extraordinary  breadth  and  pierc- 
ing acuteness  of  intellect  which  he  displays,  that  excite 
your  greatest  surprise;  but  you  feel  that  here  is  a  man 
who  has  gauged  the  potentiality  of  every  word  he  u.-.-: 
who  has  analyzed  the  simples  of  his  every  compound 
phrase.  In  his  'hands  our  stiff  Saxon  language  becomes 
almost  as  ductile  as  the  Greek.  Ideas  that  seem  to  defy 
expression, —  ideas  so  subtile,  or  so  vague  and  shifting, 
that  most  thinkers  find  it  difficult  to  contemplate  them 
at  all, —  are  conveyed  on  his  page  with  a  nicety,  a  felicity 
of  phrase,  that  might  almost  provoke  the  envy  of  Shaks- 
peare.  In  the  hands  of  a  great  sculptor,  marble  and 
bronze  become  as  soft  and  elastic  as  living  flesh,  and  not 
unlike  this  is  the  dominion  which  the  great  •  writers  pos- 
sess over  language.  In  their  verse  our  rugged  but  pithy 
and  expressive  English  breathes  all  sounds,  all  melodies; 

"And  now  'tis  like  all  instrument*, 

Now  like  a  lonely  flute, 
And  now  it  is  an  angel's  song, 
That  makes  the  heavens  be  mnte." 


20  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

The  superiority  of  the  writers  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury to  those  of  our  own  day  is  due  not  less  to  their 
choice  and  collocation  of  words  than  to  their  weight  of 
thought.  There  was  no  writing  public  nor  reading  popu- 
lace in  that  age;  the  writers  were  few  and  intellectual. 
and  they  addressed  themselves  to  learned,  or,  at  least,  to 
studious  and  thoughtful  readers.  "  The  structure  of  their 
language,"  says  Henry  Taylor,  "  is  itself  an  evidence  that 
they  counted  upon  another  frame  of  mind,  and  a  different 
pace  and  speed  in  reading,  from  that  which  can  alone  be 
looked  to  by  the  writers  of  these  days.  Their  books  were 
not  written  to  be  snatched  up,  run  through,  talked  over, 
and  forgotten;  and  their  diction,  therefore,  was  not  such 
as  lent  wings  to  haste  and  impatience,  making  every- 
thing so  clear  that  he  who  ran  or  flew  might  read. 
Rather  was  it  so  constructed  as  to  detain  the  reader  over 
what  was  pregnant  and  profound,  and  compel  him  to  that 
brooding  and  prolific  posture  of  mind  by  which,  if  he 
had  wings,  they  might  help  him  to  some  more  genial 
and  profitable  employment  than  that  of  running  like  an 
ostrich  through  a  desert.  And  hence  those  characteristics 
of  diction  by  which  these  writers  are  made  more  fit  than 
those  who  have  followed  them  to  train  the  ear  and  utter- 
ance of  a  poet.  For  if  we  look  at  the  long-suspended 
sentences  of  those  days,  with  all  their  convolutions  and 
intertextures, —  the  many  parts  waiting  for  the  ultimate 
wholeness, — .we  shall  perceive  that  without  distinct  i\<> 
movement  and  rhythmical  significance  of  a  very  high 
order,  it  would  be  impossible  that  they  could  be  sustained 
in  any  sort  of  clearness.  One  of  these  writers'  sentences 
is  often  in  itself  a  work  of  art,  having  its  strophes  and 
antistrophes,  its  winding  changes  and  recalls,  by  which 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  21 

the  reader,  though  conscious  of  plural  voices  and  running 
divisions  of  thought,  is  not,  however,  permitted  to  disso- 
ciate them  from  their  mutual  concert  and  dependency,  but 
required,  on  the  contrary,  to  give  them  entrance  into  his 
mind,  opening  it  wide  enough  for  the  purpose,  as  one 
compacted  and  harmonious  fabric.  Sentences  thus  elab- 
orately constructed,  and  complex,  though  musical,  are  not 
easy  to  a  remiss  reader,  but  they  are  clear  and  delight- 
ful to  an  intent  reader." 

Few  persons  are  aware  how  much  knowledge  is  some- 
times necessary  to  give  the  etymology  and  definition  of  a 
word.  It  is  easy  to  define  words,  as  certain  persons  satir- 
ized by  Pascal  have  defined  light:  "A  luminary  movement 
of  luminous  bodies":  or  as  a  Western  judge  once  defined 
murder  to  a  jury:  "  Murder,  gentlemen,  is  when  a  man  is 
murderously  killed.  It  is  the  murdering  that  constitutes 
murder  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  Murder,  in  short,  is  — 
murder."  We  have  all  smiled  at  Johnson's  definition  of 
network:  "Network  —  anything  reticulated  or  decussed  at 
equal  distances,  with  interstices  between  the  intersections." 
Many  of  the  definitions  in  our  dictionaries  remind  one  of 
Bardolph's  attempt  to  analyze  the  term  accommodation: 
"  Accommodation, —  that  is,  when  a  man  is,  as  they  say, 
accommodated;  or  when  a  man  is  being  whereby  he 
may  be  thought  to  be  accommodated,  which  is  an  excel- 
lent thing."  Brimstone,  for  example,  the  lexicographer 
defines  by  telling  us  that  it  is  sulphur;  and  then  rewards 
us  for  the  trouble  we  have  had  in  turning  to  sulphur, 
by  telling  us  that  it  is  brimstone.  The  eccentric  Davy 
Crockett,  whose  exterior  roughness  veiled  a  great  deal 
of  mother  wit,  happily  characterized  this  whole  tribe  of 
lexicographers  by  a  remark  he  once  made  to  a  Western 


22  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

member  of  Congress.  When  the  latter,  in  a  speech  on  a 
bill  for  increasing  the  number  of  hospitals,  wearied  his 
hearers  by  incessant  repetition, — "  Sit  down,"  whispered 
Crockett,  "you  are  coming  out  of  the  same  hole  you 
went  in  at."  There  is  a  mythical  story  that  the  forty 
members  of  the  French  Academy  once  undertook  to  define 
the  word  crab,  and  hit  upon  this,  which  they  deemed  quite 
satisfactory:  "Crab, —  a  small- red  fish,  which  walks  lock- 
ward."  "  Perfect,  gentlemen,"  said  Cuvier,  when  inter- 
rogated touching  the  correctness  of  the  definition;  "per- 
fect,—  only  I  will  make  one  small  observation  in  natural 
history.  The  crab  is  not  a  fish,  it  is  not  red,  and  it  does  not 
walk  backward.  With  these  exceptions,  your  definition  is 
admirable."  Too  many  easily-made  definitions  are  liable  to 
similar  damaging  exceptions. 

The  truth  is,  no  word  can  be  truly  defined  until  the 
exact  idea  is  understood,  in  all  its  relations,  which  the  word 
is  designed  to  represent.  Let  a  man  undertake  to  define 
the  word  "  alkali "  or  "  acid,"  for  instance,  and  he  will  have 
to  encounter  some  pretty  hard  problems  in  chemistry. 
Lavoisier,  the  author  of  the  terminology  of  modern  chem- 
istry, tells  us  that  when  he  undertook  to  form  a  nomencla- 
ture of  that  science,  and  while  he  proposed  to  himself 
nothing  more  than  to  improve  the  chemical  language,  his 
work  transformed  itself  by  degrees,  and  without  his  beirrg 
able  to  prevent  it,  into  a  treatise  upon  the  elements  of 
chemistry.  A  similar  experience  was  that  of  Samuel 
Bailey,  who  held  a  derivative  opinion  in  favor  of  Berkeley's 
"Theory  of  Vision";  but  having,  in  the  course  of  a  phil- 
osophical discussion,  occasion  to  explain  it,  he  found,  on  at- 
tempting to  state  in  his  own  language  the  grounds  on  which 
it  rested,  that  they  no  longer  appeared  to  him  to  be  so  clear 


THE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  23 

and  conclusive  as  he  had  fancied  them  to  be.  He  deter- 
mined, therefore,  to  make  them  the  subject  of  a  patient  and 
dispassionate  examination;  and  the  result  was  a  clear  con- 
viction of  the  erroneousness  of  Berkeley's  theory,  the  phil- 
osophical grounds  for  which  'conviction  he  has  so  ably  and 
luminously  set  forth  in  his  book  on  the  subject.  The  truth 
is,  accurate  definitions  of  the  terms  of  any  science  can  only 
follow  accurate  and  sharply-defined  notions  of  the  science 
itself.  Try  to  define  the  words  matter,  substance,  idea,  ivill, 
ctnixi;  <-<>iixi-'n>)ice,  virtue,  right,  and  you  will  soon  ascertain 
whether  you  have  grappled  with  the  grand  problems  or 
only  skimmed  the  superficies  of  metaphysics  and  ethics. 

Let  no  one,  then,  underrate  the  importance  of  the 
study  of  words.  Daniel  Webster  was  often  seen  absorbed 
in  the  study  of  an  English  Dictionary.  Lord  Chatham 
read  the  folio  dictionary  of  Bailey  twice  through,  exam- 
ining each  word  attentively,  dwelling  on  its  peculiar  im- 
port and  modes  of  construction,  and  thus  endeavoring  to 
bring  the  whole  range  of  our  language  completely  under 
his  control.  One  of  the  most  distinguished  American  au- 
thors is  said  to  be  in  the  habit  of  reading  the  dictionary 
through  about  once  a  year.  His  choice  of  fresh  and  force- 
ful terms  has  provoked  at  times  the  charge  of  pedantry; 
but,  in  fact,  he  has  but  fearlessly  used  the  wealth  of  the 
language  that  lies  buried  in  the  pages  of  Noah  Webster. 
It  is  only  by  thus  working  in  the  mines  of  language  that 
one  can  fill  his  storehouses  of  expression,  so  as  to  be  above 
the  necessity  of  using  cheap  and  common  words,  or  even 
using  these  with  no  subtle  discrimination  of  their  mean- 
ings. Rufus  Choate  once  said  to  one  of  his  students:  "  You 
don't  want  a  diction  gathered  from  the  newspapers,  caught 
from  the  air,  common  and  unsuggestive ;  but  you  want 


24  WOKDS;    THEIR    USE   AND    ABUSE. 

one  whose  every  word  is  full-freighted  with  suggestion 
and  association,  with  beauty  and  power."  The  leading 
languages  of  the  world  are  full  of  such  words,  "  opulent, 
microcosmic,  in  which  histories  are  imaged,  which  record 
civilizations.  Others  recall  to  us  great  passages  of  elo- 
quence, or  of  noble  poetry,  and  bring  in  their  train  the 
whole  splendor  of  such  passages,  when  they  are  uttered." 
Mr.  Disraeli  says  of  Canning,  that  he  had  at  command 
the  largest  possible  number  of  terms,  both  "  rich  and 
rare," — words  most  vivid  and  effective, —  really  spirit- 
stirring  words ;  for  words  there  are,  as  every  poet  knows, 
whose  sound  is  an  echo  to  the  sense,  —  words  which,  while  by 
their  literal  meaning  they  convey  an  idea  to  the  mind,  have 
also  a  sound  and  association  which  are  like  music  to  the 
ear,  and  a  picture  to  the  eye, —  vivid,  graphic,  and  pic- 
turesque words  that  make  you  almost  see  the  thing  de- 
scribed. It  is  said  of  Keats,  that  when  reading  Chaucer, 
Spenser,  and  Milton,  he  became  a  critic  of  their  thoughts, 
their  words,  their  rhymes,  and  their  cadences.  He  brooded 
over  fine  phrases  like  a  lover;  and  often,  when  he  met  a 
quaint  or  delicious  word  in  the  course  of  his  reading,  he 
would  take  pains  to  make  it  his  own  by  using  it,  as 
speedily  as  possible,  in  some  poem  he  was  writing.  Upon 
expressions  like  "  the  sea-shouldering  whale "  of  Spenser. 
he  would  dwell  with  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

The  question  has  been  often  discussed  whether,  if  man 
were  deprived  of  articulate  speech,  he  would  still  be  able 
to  think.  The  example  of  the  deaf  and  dumb,  who  evi- 
dently think,  not  by  associations  of  sound,  but  of  touch. 
—  using  combinations  of  finger-speech,  instead  of  words, 
as  the  symbols  of  their  thought, —  appears  to  show  that 
he  might  find  an  efficient  substitute  for  his  present  means 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  25 

of  reflection.  The  telegraph  and  railway  signals,  are,  in 
fact,  new  modes  of  speech,  which  are  quickly  familiarized 
by  practice.  The  engine  driver  shuts  off  the  steam  at  the 
warning  signal,  without  thinking  of  the  words  to  which 
it  is  equivalent;  a  particular  signal  becomes  associated 
with  a  particular  act,  and  the  interposition  of  words  be- 
comes useless.  It  is  well  known  that  persons  skilled  in 
gesticulation  can  communicate  by  it  a  long  series  of  facts 
and  even  complicated  trains  of  thought.  Roscius,  the  Ro- 
man actor,  claimed  that  he  could  express  a  sentiment  in 
a  greater  variety  of  ways  by  significant  gestures  than 
Cicero  could  by  language.  During  the  reign  of  Augustus, 
both  tragedies  and  comedies  were  acted,  with  powerful 
effect,  by  pantomime  alone.  When  the  Megarians  wanted 
help  from  the  Spartans,  and  threw  down  an  empty  meal- 
bag  before  the  assembly,  declaring  that  "  it  lacked  meal," 
these  verbal  economists  said  that  "  the  mention  of  the 
sack  was  superfluous."  When  the  Scythian  ambassadors 
wished  to  convince  Darius  of  the  hopelessness  of  invading 
their  country,  they  made  no  long  harangue,  but  argued 
with  far  more  cogency  by  merely  bringing  him  a  bird, 
a  mouse,  a  frog,  and  two  arrows,  to  imply  that  unless 
he  could  soar  like  a  bird,  burrow  like  a  mouse,  and  hide 
in  the  marshes  like  a  frog,  he  would  never  be  able  to 
escape  their  shafts. 

Facts  like  these  tend  to  show  that  man  might  still 
have  been,  as  the  root  of  the  word  "  man "  implies  in 
Sanskrit,  "  a  thinking  being,"  though  he  had  never  been 
a  "speech-dividing"  being;  but,  it  is  evident  that  his 
range  of  thought  would  have  been  exceedingly  narrow, 
and  that  his  mightiest  triumphs  over  nature  would  have 
I 


26  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

been  impossible.  While  it  may  be  true,  as  Tennyson 
says,  that 

"  Thought  leapt  out  to  wed  with  thought, 
Ere  thought  could  wed  itself  to  speech, " 

yet  there  is  an  intimate  relation  between  "  ratio "  and 
"  oratio,"  and  it  may  be  doubted  whether,  without  some 
signs,  verbal  or  of  another  sort,  thought,  except  of  the 
simplest  kind,  would  not  have  been  beyond  man's  power. 
Long  use  has  so  familiarized  us  with  language,  we  em- 
ploy it  so  readily,  and  without  conscious  effort,  that  we 
are  apt  to  regard  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  become 
blind  to  its  mystery  and  deep  significance.  We  rarely 
think  of  the  long  and  changeful  history  through  which 
each  word  we  utter  has  passed, —  of  the  many  changes 
in  form  and  changes  in  signification  it  has  undergone, — 
and  of  the  time  and  toil  spent  in  its  invention  and  elabo- 
ration by  successive  generations  of  thinkers  and  speakers. 
Still  less  do  we  think  how  different  man's  history  would 
have  been,  how  comparatively  useless  would  have  been 
all  his  other  endowments,  had  God  not  given  him  the 
faculties  "  which,  out  of  the  shrieks  of  birds  in  the  forest, 
the  roar  of  beasts,  the  murmur  of  rushing  waters,  the 
sighing  of  the  wind,  and  his  own  impulsive  ejaculations, 
have  constructed  the  great  instrument  that  Demosthenes, 
and  Shakspeare,  and  Massillon  wielded,  the  instrument 
by  which  the  laws  of  the  universe  are  unfolded,  and  the 
subtle  workings  of  the  human  heart  brought  to  light.'' 
Language  is  not  only  a  means  of  comnmnication  between 
man  and  man,  but  it  has  other  functions  hardly  less 
important.  It  is  only  by  its  aid  that  we  are  able  to  an- 
alyze our  complex  impressions,  to  preserve  the  results  of 
the  analysis,  and  to  abbreviate  the  processes  of  thought. 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  27 

Were  we  content  with  the  bare  reception  of  visual  im- 
pressions, we  could  to  some  extent  dispense  with  words; 
but  as  the  mind  does  not  receive  its  impressions  passively, 
but  reflects  upon  them,  decomposes  them  into  their  parts, 
and  compares  them  with  notions  already  stored  up,  it 
becomes  necessary  to  give  to  each  of  these  elements  a  name. 
By  virtue  of  these  names  we  are  able  to  keep  them  apart 
in  the  mind,  and  to  recall  them  with  precision  and  facility, 
just  as  the  chemist  by  the  labels  on  his  jars,  or  the  gar- 
dener by  those  on  his  flower-pots,  is  enabled  to  identify  the 
substances  these  vessels  contain.*  Thus  reflections  which 
when  past  might  have  been  dissipated  forever,  are  by  their 
connection  with  language  brought  always  within  reach. 
Who  can  estimate  the  amount  of  investigation  and  thought 
which  are  represented  by  such  words  as  gravitation,  chem- 
ical affinity,  atomic  weight,  capital,  inverse  proportion,  polar- 
ity, and  inertia, —  words  which  are  each  the  quintessence 
and  final  result  of  an  infinite  number  of  anterior  mental 
processes,  and  which  may  be  compared  to  the  paper  money 
or  bills  of  exchange  by  which  the  world's  wealth  may  be 
inclosed  in  envelopes  and  sent  swiftly  to  the  farthest  cen- 
tres of  commerce?  Who  can  estimate  the  inconvenience 
that  would  result,  and  the  degree  in  which  mental  activity 
would  be  arrested,  were  we  compelled  to  do  without  these 
comprehensive  words  which  epitomize  theories,  sum  up  the 
labors  of  the  past,  and  facilitate  and  abridge  future  mental 
processes?  The  effect,  as  Archbishop  Trench  has  observed, 
would  be  to  restrict  all  scientific  discovery  as  effectually  as 
commerce  and  exchange  would  be  restricted,  if  all  transac- 
tions had  to  be  carried  on  with  iron  or  copper  as  the  sole 
medium  of  mercantile  intercourse. 

f  "Outline  of  the  Lavs  of  Thought,"  by  William  Thomson,  D.D.,  p.  53, 


28  WOUDS;    THEIR   USE   AND    ABUSE. 

Language  has  thus  an  educational  value,  for  in  learning 
words  we  are  learning  to  discriminate  things.  "  As  the 
distinctions  between  the  relations  of  objects  grow  more 
numerous,  involved,  and  subtle,  it  becomes  more  analytic, 
to  be  able  to  express  them;  and,  inversely,  those  who  are 
born  to  be  the  heirs  of  a  highly  analytic  language,  must 
needs  learn  to  think  up  to  it,  to  observe  and  distinguish  all 
the  relations  of  objects,  for  which  they  find  the  expressions 
already  formed;  so  that  we  have  an  instructor  for  the 
thinking  powers  in  that  speech  which  we  are  apt  to  deem 
no  more  than  their  handmaid  and  minister."  No  two 
things,  indeed,  are  more  closely  connected  than  poverty  of 
language  and  poverty  of  thought.  Language  is,  on  one 
side,  as  truly  the  limit  and  restraint  of  thought,  as  on 
the  other  that  which  feeds  and  sustains  it.  When  an 
illiterate  person  sits  down  to  write,  his  fund  of  words 
being  small,  the  paucity  of  his  thoughts  is  sure  to  cor- 
respond to  it.  Though  he  may  have  made  the  circuit 
of  the  globe,  and  gazed  on  the  main  wonders  of  Nature 
and  of  Art,  yet  he  has  hardly  more  to  write  to  his  friends 
at  home  than  the  old  pleonastic  phrases,  "  I  am  well,  and 
I  hope  you  are  well,  and  enjoying  the  same  blessing." 
In  bridging  the  chasm  between  such  a  man  and  one  of  high 
culture,  the  acquisition  of  words  plays  as  important  a  part 
as  the  acquisition  of  ideas. 

It  has  been  justly  said  that  no  man  can  learn  from  or 
communicate  to  another  more  than  the  words  they  are 
familiar  with  either  express  or  can  be  made  to  express. 
The  deep  degradation  of  the  savage  is  due  as  much  to  the 
brutal  poverty  of  his  language  as  to  other  causes.  Hence 
the  knowledge  of  words  is  not  an  elegant  accomplishment 
only,  not  a.  luxury,  but  a  positive  necessity  of  the  civilized. 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  29 

and  cultivated  man.  It  is  necessary  not  only  to  him  who 
would  express  himself,  but  to  him  who  would  think,  with 
precision  and  effect.  There  is,  indeed,  no  higher  proof,  of 
thorough  and  accurate  culture  than  the  tact  that  a  writer, 
instead  of  employing  words  loosely  and  at  hap-hazard, 
chooses  only  those  which  are  the  exact  vesture  of  his 
thought.  As  he  only  can  be  called  a.  well-dressed  man 
whose  clothes  exactly  fit  him,  being  neither  small  and 
shrunken,  nor  loose  and  baggy,  so  it  is  the  first  charac- 
teristic of  a  good  style  that  the  words  fit  close  to  the  ideas. 
They  will  be  neither  too  big  here,  hanging  like  a  giant's 
robe  on  the  limbs  of  a  dwarf,  nor  too  small  there,  like  a 
boy's  garments  into  which  a  man  has  painfully  squeezed 
himself;  but  will  be  the  exact  correspondents  and  perfect 
exponents  of  his  thought.  Between  the  most  synonymous 
words  a  careful  writer  will  have  a  choice;  for,  strictly 
speaking,  there  are  no  synonyms  in  a  language,  the  most 
closely  resembling  and  apparently  equivalent  terms  having 
some  nice  shade  of  distinction, —  a  fine  illustration  of  which 
is  found  in  Ben  Jonson's  line,  "  Men  may  securely  sin,  but 
safely  never";  and  again,  in  the  reply  with  which  Sydney 
Smith  used  to  meet  the  cant  about  popular  education  in 
England:  "  Pooh,  pooh!  it  is  the  worst  educated  country  in 
the  world,  I  grant  you;  but  it  is  the  best  instructed."  Will- 
iam Pitt  was  a  remarkable  example  of  this  precision  of 
style.  Fox  said  of  him:  "  Though  I  am  myself  never  at  a 
loss  for  a  word,  Pitt  not  only  has  a  word,  but  the  word, — 
the  very  word, —  to  express  his  meaning."  Eobert  Hall 
chose  his  words  with  a  still  more  fastidious  nicety,  and  he 
gave  as  one  reason  for  his  writing  so  little,  that  he  could 
so  rarely  approach  the  realization  of  his  own  beau-ideal  of 
a  perfect  style.  It  is  related  of  him  that,  when  he  was  cor- 


30  WOKDS;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

reeling  the  proofs  of  his  sermon  on  "  Modern  Infidelity,"  on 
coming  to  the  famous  passage,  "  Eternal  God,  on  what  are 
thine  enemies  intent?  What  are  those  enterprises  of  guilt 
and  horror,  that,  for  the  safety  of  their  performers,  require 
to  be  enveloped  in  a  darkness  which  the  eye  of  Heaven 
must  not  penetrate?" — he  exclaimed  to  his  friend,  Dr.  Greg- 
ory: "Penetrate!  did  I  say  penetrate,  sir,  when  I  preached 
it?  "  "  Yes."  "  Do  you  think,  sir,  I  may  venture  to  alter 
it?  for  no  man  who  considers  the  force  of  the  English 
language  would  use  a  word  of  three  syllables  there  but 
from  absolute  necessity.  F 'or  penetrate  put  pierce:  pierce  is 
the  word,  sir,  and  the  only  word,  to  be  used  there." 

John  Foster  was  a  yet  more  striking  example  of  this 
conscientiousness  and  severity  in  discriminating  words. 
Never,  perhaps,  was  there  a  writer  the  electric  action  of 
whose  mind,  telegraphing  with  all  nature's  works,  was  so 
in  contrast  with  its  action  in  writing.  Here  it  was  al- 
most painfully  slow,  like  the  expression  of  some  costly  oil, 
drop  by  drop.  He  would  spend  whole  days  on  a  few 
short  sentences,  passing  each  word  under  his  concentrated 
sci'utiny,  so  that  each,  challenged  and  examined,  took  its 
place  in  the  structure  like  an  inspected  soldier  in  the 
ranks.  When  Chalmers,  after  a  visit  to  London,  was 
asked  what  Foster  was  about,  he  replied:  "Hard  at  it, 
at  the  rate  of  a  line  a  week."  Read  a  page  of  the  essay 
on  "  Decision  of  Character,"  and  you  will  feel  that  this 
was  scarcely  an  exaggeration, —  that  he  stood  by  the  ring- 
ing anvil  till  every  word  was  forged  into  a  bolt.  Few 
persons  know  how  hard  easy  writing  is.  Who  that  reads 
the  light,  sparkling  verse  of  Thomas  Moore,  dreams  of  the 
mental  pangs,  the  long  and  anxious  thought,  which  a 
single  word  often  cost  him!  Irving  tells  us  that  he  was 


THE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF    WORDS.  31 

once  riding  with  the  Irish  poet  in  the  streets  of  Paris, 
when  the  hackney-coach  went  suddenly  into  a  deep  rut, 
out  of  which  it  came  with  such  a  jolt  as  to  send  their 
pates  bump  against  the  roof.  "By  Jove,  Ire  got  it!" 
cried  Moore,  clapping  his  hands  with  great  glee.  "Got 
what?"  said  Irving.  "Why,"  said  the  poet,  "that  tvotd 
I've  been  hunting  for  six  weeks,  to  complete  my  last  song. 
That  rascally  driver  has  jolted  it  out  of  me." 

The  ancient  writers  and  speakers  were  even  more  nice 
and  fastidious  than  the  moderns,  in  their  choice  and 
arrangement  of  words.  Virgil,  after  having  spent  eleven 
years  in  the  composition  of  the  ^Eneid,  intended  to  de- 
vote three  years  to  its  revision;  but,  being  prevented  by 
his  last  sickness  from  giving  it  the  finishing  touches 
which  his  exquisite  judgment  deemed  necessary,  he  di- 
rected his  friends  to  burn  it.  The  great  orator  of  Athens, 
to  form  his  style,  transcribed  Thucydides  again  and  again. 
He  insisted  that  it  was  not  enough  that  the  orator,  in 
order  to  prepare  for  delivery  in  public,  should  write 
down  his  thoughts, —  he  must,  as  it  were,  sculpture  them 
in  brass.  He  must  not  content  himself  with  that  loose 
use  of  language  which  characterizes  a  thoughtless  fluency, 
but  his  words  must  have  a  precise  and  exact  look,  like 
newly-minted  coin,  with  sharply-cut  edges  and  devices. 
That  Demosthenes  himself  "  recked  his  own  rede  "  in  this 
matter  we  have  abundant  proof  in  almost  every  page  of 
his  great  speeches.  In  his  masterpieces  we  are  introduced 
to  mysteries  of  prose  composition  of  which  the  moderns 
know  nothing.  We  find  him,  as  a  German  critic  has 
remarked,  bestowing  incredible  pains,  not  only  upon  the 
choice  of  words,  but  upon  the  sequence  of  long  and  short 
syllables,  not  in  order  to  produce  a  regularly  recurring 


32  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

metre,  but  to  express  the  most  various  emotions  of  the 
rnind  by  a  suitable  and  ever-changing  rhythm.  It  is  in  this 
art  of  ordering  words  with  reference  to  their  effect,  even 
more,  perhaps,  than  in  the  action  for  which  his  name  is 
a  synonyme,  that  he  exhibits  his  consummate  dexterity  as 
an  orator.  Change  their  order,  and  you  at  once  break 
the  charm.  The  rhythm,  in  fact,  is  the  sense.  You  de- 
stroy the  significance  of  the  sentence  as  well  as  its  ring; 
you  lessen  the  intensity  of  the  meaning  as  well  as  the 
verbal  force.  "  At  his  pleasure,"  says  Professor  Marsh, 
"  he  separates  his  lightning  and  his  thunder  by  an  inter- 
val that  allows  his  hearer  half  to  forget  the  coming 
detonation,  or  he  instantaneously  follows  up  the  dazzling 
flash  with  a  pealing  explosion  that  stuns,  prostrates  and 
crushes  the  stoutest  opponent." 

Not  less  did  the  Roman  orators  consult  the  laws  of 
euphonic  sequence  or  metrical  convenience,  and  arrange 
their  words  in  such  a  succession  of  articulate  sounds  as 
would  fall  most  pleasingly  on  the  ear.  The  wonderful 
effects  which  sometimes  attended  their  elocution  were,  in 
all  probability,  chiefly  owing  to  their  exquisite  choice  of 
words  and  their  skill  in  musical  concords.  It  was  by  the 
charm  of  numbers,  as  well  as  by  the  strength  of  reason, 
that  Cicero  confounded  Catiline  and  silenced  the  eloquent 
Hortensius.  It  was  this  that  deprived  Curio  of  all  power 
of  recollection  when  he  rose  to  oppose  that  great  master 
of  enchanting  rhetoric;  it  was  this  that  made  even  Caesar 
himself  tremble,  and  at  last  change  his  determined  pur- 
pose, and  acquit  the  man  he  had  resolved  to  condemn. 
When  the  Roman  orator,  Carbo,  pronounced,  on  a  certain 
occasion,  the  sentence,  "  Patris  dictum  sapiens  temeritas 
filii  comprobavit"  it  was  astonishing,  says  Cicero,  to  ob- 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  33 

serve  the  general  applause  which  followed  that  harmonious 
close.  Doubtless  we  are  ignorant  of  the  art  of  pronounc- 
ing that  period  with  its  genuine  emphasis;  but  Cicero 
assures  us  that  had  the  final  measure, —  what  is  techni- 
cally called  a  dichoree, —  been  changed,  and  the  words 
placed  in  a  different  order,  their  whole  effect  would  have 
been  absolutely  destroyed.  With  the  same  exquisite  sensi- 
bility to  numbers,  an  ancient  writer  says  that  a  similar 
result  would  follow,  if,  in  reading  the  first  line  of  the 
jEneid, 

"Arma  virumquc  cano,  Trojae  qni  primus  ab  oris," 

instead  of  primus  we  were  to  pronounce  it  primis  (is 
being  long,  and  us  short). 

It  is  this  cunning  choice,  along  with  the  skillful  ar- 
rangement of  words,  that,  even  more  than  the  thought, 
eternizes  the  name  of  an  author.  Style  is,  and  ever  has 
been,  the  most  vital  element  of  literary  immortalities. 
More  than  any  other  quality  it  is  a  writer's  own  prop- 
erty; and  no  one,  not  time  itself,  can  rob  him  of  it,  or 
even  diminish  its  value.  Facts  may  be  forgotten,  learn- 
ing grow  commonplace,  startling  truths  dwindle  into  mere 
truisms;  but  a  grand  or  beautiful  style  can  never  lose 
its  freshness  or  its  charm.  For  his  gorgeous  style,  even 
more  than  for  his  colossal  erudition,  is  Gibbon  admired; 
it  is  "  the  ordered  march  of  his  lordly  prose  "  that  is  the 
secret  of  Macaulay's  charm  ;  and  it  is  the  unstudied  grace 
of  Hume's  periods  which  renders  him,  in  spite  of  his 
imperfect  learning,  in  spite  of  his  willful  perversions  of 
truth,  in  spite  of  his  infidelity  and  his  toryism,  the  popu- 
lar historian  of  England. 

From  all  this  it  will  be  seen  how  absurd  it  is  to  sup- 
pose that  one  can  adequately  enjoy  the  masterpieces  of 


34  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

literature  by  means  of  translations.  Among  the  argu- 
ments against  the  study  of  the  dead  languages,  none  is 
more  pertinaciously  urged  by  the  educational  red  repub- 
licans of  the  day  than  this, —  that  the  study  is  useless, 
because  all  the  great  works,  the  masterpieces  of  antiquity, 
have  been  translated.  The  man,  we  are  told,  who  cannot 
enjoy  Carlyle's  version  of  Wilhelm  Meister,  Melmoth's 
Cicero,  Morris's  Virgil,  Martin's  Horace,  or  Carter's  Epic- 
tetus,  must  be  either  a  prodigious  scholar  or  a  prodigious 
dunce.  Sometimes,  it  is  urged,  a  translator  even  improves 
upon  the  original,  as  did  Coleridge,  in  the  opinion  of 
many,  upon  Schiller's  "  Wallenstein."  All  this  seems 
plausible  enough,  but  the  Greek  and  Latin  scholar  knows 
it  to  be  fallacious  and  false.  He  knows  that  the  finest 
passages  in  an  author, —  the  exquisite  thoughts,  the  curious 
verbal  felicities, —  are  precisely  those  which  defy  reproduc- 
tion in  another  tongue.  The  most  masterly  translations 
of  them  are  no  more  like  the  original  than  a  walking- 
stick  is  like  a  tree  in  full  bloom.  The  quintessence  of  a 
writer, —  the  life  and  spirit, —  all  that  is  idiomatic,  pecu- 
liar, or  characteristic, —  all  that  is  Homerian  in  Homer, 
or  Horatian  in  Horace, —  evaporates  in  a  translation. 

It  is  true  that,  judging  by  dictionaries  only,  almost 
every  word  in  one  language  has  equivalents  in  every 
other;  but  a  critical  study  of  language  shows,  that,  with 
the  exception  of  terms  denoting  sensible  objects  and  acts, 
there  is  rarely  a  precise  coincidence  in  meaning  between 
any  two  words  in  different  tongues.  Compare  any  two 
languages,  and  you  will  find  that  there  are,  as  the  mathe- 
maticians would  say,  many  incommensurable  quantities, 
many  words  in  each  untranslatable  into  the  other,  and 
that  it  is  often  impossible,  by  a  paraphrase,  to  supply  an 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  35 

equivalent.  To  use  De  Quincey's  happy  image  from  the 
language  of  eclipses,  the  correspondence  between  the  disk 
of  the  original  word  and  its  translated  representative,  is, 
in  thousands  of  instances,  not  annular;  the  centres  do  not 
coincide;  the  words  overlap. 

Above  all  does  poetry  defy  translation.  It  is  too  subtle 
an  essence  to  be  poured  from  one  vessel  into  another 
without  loss.  Of  Cicero's  elegant  and  copious  rhetoric,  of 
the  sententious  wisdom  of  Tacitus,  of  the  keen  philosophic 
penetration  and  masterly  narrative  talent  of  Thucydides, 
of  the  thunderous  eloquence  of  Demosthenes,  and  even  of 
Martial's  jokes,  it  may  be  possible  to  give  some  inkling 
through  an  English  medium;  but  of  the  beauties  and 
splendors  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets, —  never.  As  soon 
will  another  Homer  appear  on  earth,  as  a  translator  echo 
the  marvellous  music  of  his  lyre.  Imitations  of  the  "  Iliad," 
more  or  less  accurate,  may  be  given,  or  another  poem  may 
be  substituted  in  its  place;  but  a  perfect  transfusion  into 
English  is  impossible.  For,  as  Goethe  somewhere  says, 
Art  depends  on  Form,  and  you  cannot  preserve  the  form 
in  altering  the  form.  Language  is  a  strangely  suggestive 
medium,  and  it  is  through  the  reflex  and  vague  operation 
of  words  upon  the  mind  that  the  translator  finds  himself 
baffled.  Words,  especially  in  poetry,  have  a  potency  of 
association, —  a  kind  of  necromantic  power, —  aside  from 
their  significance  as  representative  signs.  There  is  a  min- 
gling of  sound  and  sense,  a  delicacy  of  shades  of  meaning, 
and  a  power  of  awakening  associations,  to  which  the 
instinct  of  the  poet  is  the  key,  and  which  cannot  be 
passed  into  a  foreign  language  if  the  meaning  be  also 
preserved.  You  may  as  easily  make  lace  ruffles  out  of 
hemp.  Language,  it  cannot  be  too  often  repeated,  is  not 


36  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

the  dress  of  thought;  it  is  its 'living  expression,  and  con- 
trols both  the  physiognomy  and  the  organization  of  the 
idea  it  utters. 

How  many  abortive  attempts  have  been  made  to  translate 
the  "Iliad"  and  the  "Odyssey"  into  English  verse!  AVL;it, 
havoc  have  even  Pope  and  Cowper  made  of  some  of  the 
grandest  passages  in  the  old  bard!  The  one,  it  has  been 
well  said,  turned  his  lines  into  a  series  of  brilliant  epi- 
grams, sparkling  and  cold  as  the  Heroic  Epistles  of  Ovid; 
the  other  chilled  the  warmth  and  toned  down  the  colors 
of  Homer  into  a  sober,  drab-tinted  hue,  through  which 
gods  and  men  loom  feebly,  and  the  camp  of  the  Achaeans, 
the  synod  of  the  Trojans,  and  the  deities  in  council,  have 
much  of  the  air  of  a  Quaker  meeting-house.  Regarded  as 
an  English  poem,  Pope's  translation  of  the  "  Iliad  "  is  unques- 
tionably a  brilliant  and  exquisitely  versified  production; 
but  viewed  as  a  transfusion  of  the  old  bard  into  another 
language,  it  is  but  a  caput  mortuum,  containing  but  little 
more  of  Homer  than  the  names  and  events.  The  fervid 
and  romantic  tone,  the  patriarchal  simplicity,  the  mytho- 
logic  coloring,  the  unspeakable  audacity  and  freshness  of 
the  images, —  all  that  breathes  of  an  earlier  world,  and  of 
the  sunny  shores,  and  laughing  waves,  and  blue  sky,  of  the 
old  jEgean, —  all  this,  as  a  critic  has  observed,  "  is  vanished 
and  obliterated,  as  is  the  very  swell  and  fall  of  the  versi- 
fication, regular  in  its  very  irregularity,  like  the  roll  of 
the  ocean.  Instead  of  the  burning,  picture-like  words  of 
the  old  Greek,  we  have  the  dainty  diction  of  a  literary 
artist;  instead  of  the  ever-varied,  resounding  swell  of  the 
hexameter,  the  neat,  elegant,  nicely-balanced  modern  couplet. 
In  short,  the  old  bard  is  stripped. of  his  flowing  chlamys 
and '  his  fillets,  and  is  imprisoned  in  the  high-heeled  shoes, 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  37 

the  laced  velvet  coat,  and  flowing  periwig,  of  the  eighteenth 
century."  Chapman,  who  has  more  of  the  spirit  of  Homer, 
occasionally  catches  a  note  or  two  from  the  Ionian  trum- 
pet; but  presently  blows  so  discordant  a  blast  that  it  would 
have  grated  on  the  ear  of  Stentor  himself.  Lord  Derby 
and  William  C.  Bryant  have  been  more  successful  in  many 
respects  than  Pope  or  Cowper;  but  each  has  gained  some 
advantages  by  compensating  defects. 

Did  Dryden  succeed  better  when  he  put  the  "JEneid" 
into  verse?  Did  he  give  us  that  for  which  Virgil  toiled 
during  eleven  long  years?  Did  he  give  us  the  embodi- 
ment of  those  vulgar  impressions  which,  when  the  old 
Latin  was  read,  made  the  Roman  soldier  shiver  in  all  his 
manly  limbs?  All  persons  who  are  familiar  with  English 
literature  know  what  havoc  Dryden  made  of  tl  Paradise 
Lost,"  when  he  attempted,  even  in  the  same  language,  to 
put  it  into  rhyme, —  a  proposal  to  do  which  drew  from 
Milton  the  contemptuous  remark:  "  Ay,  young  man;  you 
can  tag  my  rhymes."  A  man  of  genius  never  made  a 
more  signal  failure.  He  could  not  draw  the  bow  of 
Ulysses.  His  rhyming,  rhetorical  manner,  splendid  and 
powerful  as  it  confessedly  is,  proved  an  utterly  inadequate 
vehicle  for  the  high  argument  of  the  great  Puritan.  So 
with  his  modernizations  of  Chaucer.  His  reproductions 
of  "  the  first  finder  of  our  faire  langage "  contain  much 
admirable  verse;  but  it  is  not  Chaucer's.  They  are  sim- 
ply elaborate  paraphrases,  in  which  the  idiomatic  colors 
and  forms,  the  distinctive  beauties  of  the  old  poet, — 
above  all,  the  simplicity  and  sly  grace  of  his  language, 
the  exquisite  tone  of  naivete,  which,  like  the  lispings  of 
infancy,  give  such  a  charm  to  his  verse, —  utterly  vanish. 
Dryden  failed,  not  from  lack  of  genius,  but  simply 


38  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

because  failure  was  inevitable,  —  because  this  aroma  of 
antiquity,  in  the  process  of  transfusion  into  modern  lan- 
guage, is  sure  to  evaporate. 

All  such  changes  involve  a  loss  of  some  subtle  trait  of 
expression,  or  some  complexional  peculiarity,  essential  to 
the  truthful  exhibition  of  the  original.  The  outline,  the 
story,  the  bones  remain;  but  the  soul  is  gone, —  the  essence, 
the  ethereal  light,  the  perfume  is  vanished.  As  well  might 
a  painter  hope,  by  using  a  different  kind  of  tint,  to  give 
the  expression  of  one  of  Raphael's  or  Titian's  master- 
pieces, as  any  man  expect,  by  any  other  words  than  those 
which  a  great  poet  has  used,  to  convey  the  same  mean- 
ing. Even  the  humblest  writer  has  an  idiosyncrasy,  a 
manner  of  his  own,  without  which  the  identity  and  truth 
of  his  work  are  lost.  If,  then,  the  meaning  and  spirit  of 
a  poem  cannot  be  transferred  from  one  place  to  another, 
so  to  speak,  under  the  roof  of  a  common  language,  must 
it  not  a  fortiori  be  impossible  -to  transport  them  faith- 
fully across  the  barriers  which  divide  one  language  from 
another,  and  antiquity  from  modern  times? 

How  many  ineffectual  attempts  have  been  made  to 
translate  Horace  into  English  and  French!  It  is  easy  to 
give  the  right  meaning,  or  something  like  the  meaning, 
of  his  lyrics;  but  they  are  cast  in  a  mould  of  such  ex- 
quisite delicacy  that  their  ease  and  elegance  defy  imita- 
tion. All  experience  shows  that  the  tradittore  must 
necessarily  be  traduttore, —  the  translator,  a  traducer  of 
the  Sabine  bard.  As  well  might  you  put  a  violet  into  a 
crucible,  and  expect  to  reproduce  its  beauty  and  perfume, 
as  expect  to  reproduce  in  another  tongue  the  mysterious 
synthesis  of  sound  and  sense,  of  meaning  and  suggested 
association,  which  constitutes  the  vital  beauty  of  a  lyric, 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  39 

The  special  imagination  of  the  poet,  it  has  been  well 
said,  is  an  imagination  inseparably  bound  up  with  lan- 
guage; possessed  by  the  infinite  beauty  and  the  deepest, 
subtlest  meanings  of  words ;  skilled  in  their  finest  sympa- 
thies; powerful  to  make  them  yield  a  meaning  which 
another  never  could  have  extracted  from  them.  It  is  of 
the  very  essence  of  the  poet's  art,  so  that,  in  the  highest 
exercise  of  that  art,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  the  ren- 
dering of  an  idea  in  appropriate  language;  but  the  con- 
ception, and  the  words  in  which  it  is  conveyed,  are  a 
simultaneous  creation,  and  the  idea  springs  forth  full- 
grown,  in  its  panoply  of  radiant  utterance. 

The  works  of  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Shakspeare,  and 
Goethe,  exist  in  the  words  as  the  mind  in  conjunction 
with  the  body.  Separation  is  death.  Alter  the  melody 
ever  so  skillfully,  and  you  change  the  effect.  You  cannot 
translate  a  sound;  you  cannot  give  an  elegant  version  of 
a  melody.  Prose,  indeed,  suffers  less  from  paraphrase  than 
poetry;  but  even  in  translating  a  prose  work,  unless  one 
containing  facts  or  reasoning  merely,  the  most  skillful 
linguist  can  be  sure  of  hardly  more  than  of  transferring 
the  raw  material  of  the  original  sentiment  into  his  own 
tongue.  The  bullion  may  be  there,  but  its  shape  is  al- 
tered; the  flower  is  preserved,  but  the  aroma  is  gone; 
there,  to  be  sure,  is  the  arras,  with  its  Gobelin  figures, 
but  it  is  the  wrong  side  out.  It  is  hardly  an  exaggeration 
to  say  that  there  is  as  much  contrast  between  the  best 
translation  and  the  original  of  a  great  author,  as  between 
a  wintry  landscape,  with  its  dead  grass  and  withered 
foliage,  and  the  same  landscape  arrayed  in  the  green 
robes  of  summer.  Nay,  we  prefer  the  humblest  original 
painting  to  a  feeble  copy  of  a  great  picture, —  a  barely 


40  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

"  good  "  original  book  to  any  lifeless  translation.  A  liv- 
ing dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion;  for  the  external 
attributes  of  the  latter  are  nothing  without  the  spirit 
that  makes  them  terrible. 

The  difficulty  of  translating  from  a  dead  language,  of 
whose  onomatopo3ia  we  are  ignorant,  will  appear  still  more 
clearly,  when  we  consider  what  gross  and  ludicrous  blunders 
are  made  in  translating  even  from  one  living  language 
into  another.  It  has  been  well  said  that  few  English- 
speaking  persons  can  understand  the  audacity  of  Racine, 
so  highly  applauded  by  the  French,  in  introducing  the 
words  chien  and  sel  into  poetry;  "  dog  "  and  "  salt "  may  be 
used  by  us  without  danger ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  we  may 
not  talk  of  entrails  in  the  way  the  French  do.  Every  one 
has  heard  of  the  Frenchman,  who  translated  the  majestic 
exclamation  of  Milton's  Satan,  "  Hail !  horrors,  hail ! "  by 
"  Comment  vous  portez-vous,  Messieurs  les  Horreurs,  comment 
vous  portez  vous?"  "  How  do  you  do,  horrors,  how  do  you 
do?"  Another  Frenchman,  in  reproducing  the  following 
passage  from  Shakespeare  in  his  own  tongue, 

"  Even  such  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless, 
So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  woe-begone," 

translated  the  italicized  words  thus:  "So,  grief,  be  off  with 
you ! "  Hardly  less  ridiculous  is  the  blunder  made  by  a 
translator  of  Alexander  Smith's  "  Life-Drama,"  who  meta- 
morphoses the  expression,  "  clothes  me  with  kingdoms,"  into 
me  fait  un  vetement  de  royaumes, —  "  makes  me  a  garment 
of  kingdoms."  What  can  be  more  expressive  than  one  of 
the  lines  in  which  Milton  describes  the  lost  angels  crowd- 
ing into  Pandemonium,  where,  he  says,  the  air  was 

'•'•Brushed  with  the  hiss  of  rustling  wings," 

a  line  which  it  is  impossible  to  translate  into  words  that 


THE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF    WOHDS.  41 

will  convey  precisely  the  same  emotions  and  suggestions 
that  are  roused  by  a  perusal  of  the  original.  Suppose  the 
translator  to  hit  so  near  to  the  original  as  to  write 

"  Stirred  with  the  noise  of  quivering  wings," 

will  not  the  line  afl'ect  you  altogether  differently?  Let 
one  translate  into  another  language  the  following  line  of 
Shakespeare, 

"  The  learned  pate  ducks  to  the  golden  fool," 

and  is  it  at  all  likely  that  the  quaint,  comic  effect  of  the 
words  we  have  italicized  would  be  reproduced'? 

The  inadequacy  of  translations  will  be  more  strikingly 
exemplified  by  comparing  the  following  exquisite  lines  of 
Shakespeare  with  such  a  version  as  we  might  expect  in 
another  language :  — 

"How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank! 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears;  soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony." 

A  foreign  translator,  says  Leigh  Hunt,  would  dilute 
and  take  all  taste  and  freshness  out  of  this  draught  of 
poetry,  after  some  such  fashion  as  the  following :  — 

"With  what  a  charm  the  moon  serene  and  bright 
Lends  on  the  bank  its  soft  reflected  light! 
Sit  we,  I  pray,  and  let  us  sweetly  hear 
The  strains  melodious,  with  a  raptured  ear; 
For  soft  retreats,  and  n'ght's  impressive  hour, 
To  harmony  impart  divinest  power." 

In  view  of  all  these  considerations,  what  can  be  more 
untrue  than  the  statement  so  often  made,  that  to  be 
capable  of  easy  translation  is  a  test  of  the  excellence  of 
a  composition?  This  doctrine,  it  has  been  well  observed, 
goes  upon  the  assumption  that  one  language  is  just  like 
another  language, —  that  every  language  has  all  the  ideas, 
turns  of  thought,  delicacies  of  expression,  figures,  associa- 


42  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

tions,  abstractions,  points  of  view  which  every  other  lan- 
guage has.  "  Now,  as  far  as  regards  Science,  it  is  true 
that  all  languages  are  pretty  much  alike  for  the  purpn-rs 
of  Science;  but  even  in  this  respect  some  are  more  suit- 
able than  others,  which  have  to  coin  words  or  to  borrow 
them,  in  order  to  express  scientific  ideas.  But  if  languages 
are  not  all  equally  adapted  even  to  furnish  symbols  for 
those  universal  and  eternal  truths  in  which  Science  con- 
sists, how  can  they  be  reasonably  expected  to  be  all  equally 
rich,  equally  forcible,  equally  musical,  equally  exact,  equally 
happy,  in  expressing  the  idiosyncratic  peculiarities  of 
thought  of  some  original  and  fertile  mind,  who  has  availed 
himself  of  one  of  them?  A  great  author  takes  his  native 
language,  masters  it,  partly  throws  himself  into  it,  partly 
moulds  and  partly  adapts  it,  and  pours  out  his  multitude 
of  ideas  through  the  variously  ramified  and  delicately  mi- 
nute channels  of  expression  which  he  has  found  or  framed: 
does  it  follow  that  this  his  personal  presence  (as  it  may  be 
called)  can  forthwith  be  transferred  to  every  other  language 
under  the  sun?  Then  we  may  reasonably  maintain  that 
Beethoven's  piano  music  is  not  really  beautiful,  because  it 
cannot  be  played  on  the  hurdy-gurdy.  .  . 

"  It  seems  that  a  really  great  author  must  admit  of 
translation,  and  that  we  have  a  test  of  his  excellence  when 
he  reads  to  advantage  in  a  foreign  language  as  well  as  in 
his  own.  Then  Shakspeare  is  a  genius  because  he  can  be 
translated  into  German,  and  not  a  genius  because  he  cannot 
be  translated  into  French.  The  multiplication-table  is  the 
most  gifted  of  all  conceivable  compositions,  because  it  !<>-<•* 
nothing  by  translation,  and  can  hardly  be  said  to  belong  to 
any  one  language  whatever.  Whereas  I  should  rather  have 
conceived  that,  in  proportion  as  ideas  are  novel  and  recon- 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  43 

dite,  they  would  be  difficult  to  put  into  words,  and  that  the 
very  fact  of  their  having  insinuated  themselves  into  one 
language  would  diminish  the  chance  of  that  happy  accident 
being  repeated  in  another.  In  the  language  of  savages  you 
can  hardly  express  any  idea  or  act  of  the  intellect  at  all.  Is 
the  tongue  of  the  Hottentot  or  Esquimau  to  be  made  the 
measure  of  the  genius  of  Plato,  Pindar,  Tacitus,  St.  Jerome, 
Dante,  or  Cervantes?"  * 

The  truth  is,  music  written  for  one  instrument  cannot 
be  played  upon  another.  To  the  most  cunning  writer  that 
ever  tried  to  translate  the  beauties  of  an  author  into  a 
foreign  tongue,  we  may  say  in  the  language  of  a  French 
critic:  "  You  are  that  ignorant  musician"  who  plays  his  part 
exactly,  not  skipping  a  single  note,  nor  'neglecting  a  rest, — 
only  what  is  written  in  the  key  of /a,  he  plays  in  the  key  of 
sol.  Faithful  translator!" 

When  we  think  of  the  marvellous  moral  influence  which 
words  have  exercised  in  all  ages,  we  cannot  wonder  that 
the  ancients  believed  there  was  a  subtle  sorcery  in  them, 
"  a  certain  bewitchery  or  fascination,"  indicating  that  lan- 
guage is  of  mystic  origin.  The  Gothic  nations  supposed 
that  even  their  mysterious  alphabetical  characters,  called 
"  Runes,"  possessed  magical  powers;  that  they  could  stop 
a  sailing  vessel  or  a  flying  arrow;  that  they  could  excite 
love  or  hate,  or  even  raise  the  dead.  The  Romans,  in  their 
levies,  took  care  to  enrol  first  names  of  good  omen,  such  as 
Victor,  Valerius,  Salvius,  Felix,  and  Faustus.  Csesar  gave 
a  command  in  Spain  to  an  obscure  Scipio,  merely  for  the 
omen  which  his  name  involved.  When  an  expedition  had 
been  planned  under  the  leadership  of  Atrius  Niger,  the 
soldiers  absolutely  refused  to  proceed  under  a  commander 

*  J.  H.  Newman. 


44  WORDS  ;    THEIR   USE   AND    ABUSE. 

of  so  ill-omened  a  name, —  dux  abominandi  nominis, —  it 
being,  as  De  Quincey  says,  "  a  pleonasm  of  darkness/1  The 
same  deep  conviction  that  words  are  powers  is  seen  in  the 
favete  linguis  and  bona  verba  quceso  of  the  Romans,  by 
which  they  endeavored  to  repress  the  utterance  of  any 
word  suggestive  of  ill-fortune,  lest  the  event  so  suggested 
to  the  imagination  should  actually  occur.  So  they  were 
careful  to  avoid,  by  euphemisms,  the  utterance  of  any 
word  directly  expressive  of  death  or  other  calamity,  saying 
vixit  instead  of  mortuus  est,  and  "  be  the  event  fortunate  or 
otherwise,"  instead  of  adverse.  The  name  Egesta  they 
changed  into  Segesta,  Maleventum  into  Beneventum,  Axei- 
nos  into  Euxine,  and  Epidamnus  into  Dyrrhachium,  to 
escape  the  perils  of  a  word  suggestive  of  damnum,  or 
detriment.  Even  in  later  times  the  same  feeling  has  pre- 
vailed,—  an  illustration  of  which  we  have  in  the  life  of 
Pope  Adrian  VI., who,  when  elected,  dared  not  retain  his 
own  name,  as  he  wished,  because  he  was  told  by  his  cardi- 
nals that  every  Pope  who  had  done  so  had  died  in  the  first 
year  of  his  reign. 

That  there  is  a  secret  instinct  which  leads  even  the 
most  illiterate  peoples  to  recognize  the  potency  of  words, 
is  illustrated  by  the  use  made  of  names,  in  the  East,  in 
"  the  black  art."  In  the  Island  of  Java,  a  fearful  influ- 
ence, it  is  said,  attaches  to  names,  and  it  is  believed  that 
demons,  invoked  in  the  name  of  a  living  individual,  can  be 
made  to  appear.  One  of  the  magic  arts  practised  there 
is  to  write  a  man's  name  on  a  skull,  a  bone,  a  shroud,  a 
bier,  an  image  made  of  paste,  and  then  put  it  in  a  place 
where  two  roads  meet,  when  a  fearful  enchantment,  it  is 
believed,  will  be  wrought  against  the  person  whose  name 
is  so  inscribed. 


THE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF    WORDS.  45 

But  we  need  not  go  to  antiquity  or  to  barbarous  nations 
to  learn  the  mystic  power  of  words.  There  is  not  a  day, 
hardly  an  hour  of  our  lives,  which  does  not  furnish  exam- 
ples of  their  ominous  force.  Shakspeare  makes  one  of  his 
characters  say  of  another,  "  She  speaks  poniards,  and  every 
word  stabs  " ;  and  there  are,  indeed,  words  which  are 
sharper  than  drawn  swords,  which  give  moi~e  pain  than  a 
score  of  blows;  and,  again,  there  are  words  by  which  pain 
of  soul  is  relieved,  hidden  grief  removed,  sympathy  con- 
veyed, counsel  imparted,  and  courage  infused.  How  often 
has  a  word  of  recognition  to  the  struggling  confirmed  a 
sublime  yet  undecided  purpose, —  a  word  of  sympathy 
opened  a  new  vista  to  the  desolate,  that  let  in  a  prospect 
of  heaven, —  a  word  of  truth  fired  a  man  of  action  to  do  a 
deed  which  has  saved  a  nation  or  a  cause,  or  a  genius  to 
write  words  which  have  gone  ringing  down  the  ages! 

"  I  have  known  a  word  more  gentle 

Than  the  breath  of  summer  air; 
In  a  listening  heart  it  nestled, 

And  it  lived  forever  there. 
Not  the  beating  of  its  prison 

Stirred  it  ever,  night  or  day; 
Only  with  the  heart's  last  throbbing 

Could  it  ever  fade  away." 

A  late  writer  has  truly  said  that  "  there  may  be  phrases 
which  shall  be  palaces  to  dwell  in,  treasure-houses  to 
explore;  a  single  word  may  be  a  window  from  which  one 
may  perceive  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  and  the  glory 
of  them.  Oftentimes  a  word  shall  speak  what  accumulated 
volumes  have  labored  in  vain  to  utter;  there  may  be  years 
of  crowded  passion  in  a  word,  and  half  a  life  in  a  sentence." 

"  Nothing,"  says  Hawthorne,  "  is  more  unaccountable 
than  the  spell  that  often  lurks  in  a  spoken  word.  A 
thought  may  be  present  to  the  mind  so  distinctly  that  no 


46  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

utterance  could  make  it  more  so;  and  two  minds  may  be 
conscious  of  the  same  thought,  in  which  one  or  both  take 
the  profbundest  interest;  but  as  long  as  it  remains  un- 
spoken, their  familiar  talk  flows  quietly  over  the  hidden 
idea,  as  a  rivulet  may  sparkle  and  dimple  over  something 
sunken  in  its  bed.  But  speak  the  word,  and  it  is  like 
bringing  up  a  drowned  body  out  of  the  deepest  pool  of  the 
rivulet,  which  has  been  aware  of  the  horrible  secret  all 
along,  in  spite  of  its  smiling  surface.". 

The  significance  of  words  is  illustrated  by  nothing, 
perhaps,  more  strikingly  than  by  the  fact  that  unity  of 
speech  is  essential  to  the  unity  of  a  people.  Community  of 
language  is  a  stronger  bond  than  identity  of  religion, 
government,  or  interests;  and  nations  of  one  speech, 
though  separated  by  broad  oceans  and  by  creeds  yet  more 
widely  divorced,  are  one  in  culture,  one  in  feeling.  Prof. 
Marsh  has  well  observed  that  the  fine  patriotic  effusion  of 
Arndt,  "  Was  ist  des  Deutschen  Vaterland,"  was  founded 
upon  the  idea  that  the  oneness  of  the  Deutsche  Zunge, 
the  German  speech,  implied  a  oneness  of  spirit,  of  aims, 
and  of  duties;  and  the  universal  acceptance  with  which 
the  song  was  received  showed  that  the  poet  had  struck  a 
chord  to  which  every  Teutonic  heart  responded.  \Vlit-n 
a  nation  is  conquered  by  another,  which  would  hold  it  in 
subjection,  it  has  to  be  again  conquered,  especially  if  its 
character  is  essentially  opposed  to  that  of  its  conqueror, 
and  the  second  conquest  is  often  the  more  difficult  of  the 
two.  To  kill  it  effectually,  its  nationality  must  be  killed, 
and  this  can  be  done  only  by  killing  its  language;  for  it 
U  through  its  language  that  its  national  prejudices,  its 
loves  and  hates,  and  passions  live.  When  this  is  not  done, 
the  old  language,  slowly  dying  out, —  if,  indeed,  it  dies  at 


T'HE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WOEDS.  47 

all, —  has  time  to  convey  the  national  traditions  into  the 
new  language,  thus  perpetuating  the  enmities  that  keep 
the  two  nations  asunder.  We  see  this  illustrated  in  the 
Irish  language,  which,  with  all  the  ideas  and  feelings  of 
which  that  language  is  the  representative  and  the  vehicle, 
lias  been  permitted  by  the  English  government  to  die  a 
lingering  death  of  seven  or  eight  centuries.  The  co- 
existence of  two  languages  in  a  State,  is  one  of  the  great- 
est misfortunes  that  can  befall  it.  The  settlement  of 
townships  and  counties  in  our  country,  by  distinct  bodies 
of  foreigners,  is,  therefore,  a  great  evil;  and  a  daily 
newspaper,  with  an  Irish,  German,  or  French  prefix,  or 
in  a  foreign  language,  is  a  perpetual  breeder  of  national 
animosities,  and  an  effectual  bar  to  the  Americanization  of 
our  foreign  population. 

The  languages  of  conquered  peoples,  like  the  serfs  of 
the  middle  ages,  appear  to  be  glebae  adscriptitiae,  and  to 
extirpate  them,  except  by  extirpating  the  native  race  itself, 
is  an  almost  impossible  task.  Rome,  though  she  con- 
quered Greece,  could  not  plant  her  language  there.  The 
barbarians  who  overran  the  Roman  Empire,  adopted  the 
languages  of  their  new  subjects;  the  Avars  and  Slaves 
who  settled  in  Greece  became  Hellenized  in  language; 
the  Northmen  in  France  adopted  a  Romanic  tongue;  and 
the  Germans  in  France  and  northern  Italy,  as  well  as 
the  Goths  in  Spain,  conformed  to  the  speech  of  the  tribes 
they  had  vanquished.  It  is  asserted,  on  not  very  good 
authority,  that  William  the  Conqueror  fatigued  his  ear 
and  exhausted  his  patience,  during  the  first  years  of  his 
sovereignty,  in  trying  to  learn  the  Saxon  language;  but, 
failing,  ordered  the  Saxons  to  speak  Norman-French.  He 
might  as  well  have  ordered  his  new  subjects  to  walk  on 


48  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

their  heads.  Charles  the  Fifth,  in  all  the  plenitude  of 
his  power,  could  not  have  compelled  all  his  subjects, 
Dutch,  Flemish,  German,  Italian,  Spanish,  etc.,  to  learn 
his  language;  he  had  to  learn  theirs,  though  a  score  in 
number,  as  had  Charlemagne  before  him. 

England  has  maintained  her  dominion  in  the  East  for 
more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  yet  the  mass  of 
Hindoos  know  no  more  of  her  language  than  of  the  Greek. 
In  the  last  century,  Joseph  II.,  of  Austria,  issued  an  edict 
that  all  his  subjects,  German,  Slavonic,  or  Magyar,  should 
speak  and  write  one  language, —  German;  but  the  people 
recked  his  decree  as  little  as  did  the  sea  that  of  Canute. 
Many  of  the  provinces  broke  out  into  open  rebellion;  and 
the  project  was  finally  abandoned.  The  Venetians  were 
for  a  long  period  under  the  Austrian  yoke;  but  they 
spoke  as  pure  Italian  as  did  any  of  their  independent 
countrymen,  and  they  never  detested  their  rulers  more 
heartily  than  at  the  time  of  their  deliverance.  Were 
different  languages  spoken  in  the  different  sections  of  the 
United  States,  the  task  of  allaying  the  bitter  feeling  of 
hostility  at  the  South,  which  led  to  the  late  outbreak, 
and  of  fusing  the  citizens  of  the  North  and  of  the  South 
into  one  homogeneous  people,  would  be  almost  hopeless. 

A  volume  might  be  filled  with  illustrations  of  the 
power  of  words;  but,  great  as  is  their  power,  and  though, 
when  nicely  chosen,  they  have  an  intrinsic  force,  it  is, 
after  all,  the  man  who  makes  them  potent.  As  it  was 
not  the  famous  needle-gun,  destructive  as  it  is,  which 
won  the  late  Prussian  victories,  but  the  intelligence 
and  discipline  of  the  Prussian  soldier,  the  man  bi-liiml 
the  gun,  educated  in  the  best  common  schools  in  the 
world, —  so  it  is  the  latent  heat  of  character,  the  man 


THE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF   WORDS.  49 

behind  the  words,  that  gives  them  momentum  and  pro- 
jectile force.  The  same  words,  coming  from  one  person, 
are  as  the  idle  wind  that  kisses  the  cheeks;  coming  from 
another,  they  are  the  cannon-shot  that  pierces  the  target 
in  the  bull's-eye.  The  thing  said  is  the  same  in  each 
case;  the  enormous  difference  lies  in  the  man  who  says 
it.  The  man  fills  out,  crowds  his  words  with  meaning, 
and  sends  them  out  to  do  a  giant's  work;  or  he  makes 
them  void  and  nugatory,  impotent  to  reach  their  destina- 
tion, or  to  do  any  execution  should  they  hit  the  mark. 
The  weight  and  value  of  opinions  and  sentiments  depend 
oftentimes  less  upon  their  intrinsic  worth  than  upon  the 
degree  in  which  they  have  been  organized  into  the  nature 
of  the  person  who  utters  them;  their  force,  less  upon 
their  inherent  power  than  upon  the  latent  heat  stored 
away  in  their  formation,  which  is  liberated  in  their  pub- 
lication. 

There  is  in  character  a  force  which  is  felt  as  deeply, 
and  which  is  as  irresistible,  as  the  mightiest  physical 
force,  and  which  makes  the  plainest  expressions  of  some 
men  like  consuming  fire.  Their  words,  instead  of  being 
the  barren  signs  of  abstract  ideas,  are  the  media  through 
which  the  life  of  one  mind  is  radiated  into  other  minds. 
They  inspire,  as  well  as  inform;  electrify,  as  well  as  en- 
lighten. Even  truisms  from  their  lips  have  the  effect  of 
original  perceptions;  and  old  saws  and  proverbs,  worn  to 
shreds  by  constant  repetition,  startle  the  ear  like  brilliant 
fancies.  Some  of  the  greatest  effects  recorded  in  the  his- 
tory of  eloquence  have  been  produced  by  words  which, 
when  read,  strike  us  as  tame  and  commonplace.  White- 
field  could  thrill  an  audience  by  saying  "Mesopotamia!" 
Even  his  interjections, —  his  Ah!  of  pity  and  his  Oh!  of 
3 


50  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

encouragement  for  the  sinner, —  were  words  of  tremen- 
dous power,  and  formed  a  most  potent  engine  in  his 
pulpit  artillery.  Garrick  used  to  say  that  he  would  give 
a  hundred  guineas  if  he  could  say  Oh!  as  Whitefield  did. 
Grattan  said  of  the  eloquence  of  Charles  James  Fox, 
that  "every  sentence  came  rolling  like  a  wave  of  the 
Atlantic,  three  thousand  miles  long."  Willis  says  that 
every  word  of  Webster  weighs  a  pound.  College  sopho- 
mores, newly-fledged  lawyers,  and  representatives  from 
Bunkumville,  often  display  more  fluency  than  the  New 
Hampshire  giant;  but  his  words  are  to  theirs  as  the  roll 
of  thunder  to  the  patter  of  rain.  What  makes  his  argu- 
ment so  ponderous  and  destructive  to  his  opponents,  is 
not  its  own  weight  alone,  but  in  a  great  degree  the 
added  weight  of  his  temper  and  constitution,  the  trip- 
hammer momentum  with  which  he  makes  it  fall  upon  the 
theory  he  means  to  crush.  Even  the  vast  mass  of  the 
man  helped,  too,  to  make  his  words  impressive.  "  He 
carried  men's  minds,  and  overwhelmingly  pressed  his 
thought  upon  them,  with  the  immense  current  of  his 
physical  energy."  When  the  great  champion  of  New 
England  said,  in  the  United  States  Senate,  "  There  are 
Lexington  and  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill,  and  there  they 
will  remain  forever,"  it  was  the  weight  of  character,  and 
of  all  the  associations  connected  with  it,  which  changed 
that  which,  uttered  by  another,  would  have  been  the 
merest  truism,  into  a  lofty  and  memorable  sentiment. 
The  majesty  of  the  utterance,  which  is  said  to  have 
quickened  the  pulse  even  of  "  the  great  Nullifier,"  Calhoun, 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  it  came  from  a  mighty  nature, 
which  had  weighed  and  felt  all  the  meaning  which  those 
three  spots  represent  in  the  stormy  history  of  the  world. 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF    WORDS.  51 

It  was  this  which  gave  such  prodigious  power  to  the 
words  of  Chatham,  and  made  them  smite  his  adversaries 
like  an  electric  battery.  It  was  the  haughty  assumption 
of  superiority,  the  scowl  of  his  imperial  brow,  the  omi- 
nous growl  of  his  voice,  "  like  thunder  heard  remote," 
the  impending  lightnings  which  seemed  ready  to  dart 
from  his  eyes,  and,  above  all,  the  evidence  which  these 
furnished  of  an  imperious  and  overwhelming  will,  that 
abashed  the  proudest  peers  in  the  House  of  Lords,  and 
made  his  words  perform  the  office  of  stabs  and  blows. 
The  same  words,  issuing  from  other  lips,  would  have 
been  as  harmless  as  pop-guns. 

In  reading  the  quotations  from  Chalmers,  which  are 
reported  to  have  so  overwhelmingly  oppressed  those  who 
heard  them,  almost  every  one  is  disappointed.  It  is  the 
creative  individuality  projected  into  the  words  that  makes 
the  entire  difference  between  Kean  or  Kemble  and  the 
poorest  stroller  that  murders  Shakspeare.  It  is  said  that 
Macready  never  produced  a  more  thrilling  effect  than  by 
the  simple  words,  "Who  said  that?"  An  acute  American 
writer  observes  that  when  Sir  Edward  Coke,  a  man  essen- 
tially commonplace  in  his  intellect  and  prejudices,  though 
of  vast  acquirement  and  giant  force  of  character,  calls 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  "  a  spider  of  hell,"  the  metaphor  may 
not  seem  remarkable;  but  it  has  a  terrible  significance 
when  we  see  the  whole  roused  might  of  Sir  Edward  Coke 
glaring  through  it.*  What  can  be  more  effective  than 
the  speech  of  Thersites  in  the  first  book  of  the  "  Iliad "  ? 
Yet  the  only  effect  was  to  bring  down  upon  the  speaker's 
shoulders  the  staff  of  Ulysses.  Pope  well  observes  that, 
had  Ulysses  made  the  same  speech,  the  troops  would  have 

*  "  Literature  and  Life,"  by  Edwin  P.  Whipple. 


52  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

sailed  for  Greece  that  very  night.  The  world  considers  not 
merely  what  is  said,  but  who  speaks,  and  whence  he  says  it. 

"  Let  but  a  lord  once  own  the  happy  lines, 
How  the  wit  brightens,  how  the  style  refines!" 

says  the  same  poet  of  a  servile  race;  and  Euripides  ex- 
presses the  same  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  position  and 
character  when  he  makes  Hecuba  entreat  tllysses  to  in- 
tercede for  her;  "  for  the  arguments,"  says  she,  "  which  are 
uttered  by  men  of  repute,  are  very  different  in  strength 
from  those  uttered  by  men  unknown." 

The  significance  of  the  simplest  epithet  depends  upon 
the  character  of  the  man  that  uses  it.  Let  two  men  of 
different  education,  tastes,  and  habits  of  thought,  utter  the 
word  "  grand,"  and  our  sense  of  the  word  is  modified  ac- 
cording to  our  knowledge  of  the  men. 

Mr.  Whipple  says  truly  that  "  there  are  no  more  simple 
words  than  'green,'  '  sweetness,'  and  '  rest,'  yet  what  depth 
and  intensity  of  significance  shines  in  Chaucer's  '  green  '- 
what  a  still  ecstasy  of  religious  bliss  irradiates  '  sweetnr»,' 
as  it  drops  from  the  pen  of  Jonathan  Edwards:  what  celes- 
tial repose  beams  from  '  rest'  as  it  lies  on  the  page  of  Bar- 
row! The  moods  seem  to  transcend  the  resources  of  lan- 
guage; yet  they  are  expressed  in  common  words,  transfig- 
ured, sanctified,  imparadised  by  the  spiritual  vitality  which 
streams  through  them."  The  same  critic,  in  speaking  of 
style  as  the  measure  of  a  writer's  power,  observes  that 
"  the  marvel  of  Shakspeare's  diction  is  its  immense  suggrst- 
iveness, —  his  power  of  radiating  through  new  verbal  com- 
binations, or  through  single  expressions,  a  life  and  meaning 
which  they  do  not  retain  in  their  removal  to  dictionaries. 
When  the  thought  is  so  subtle,  or  the  emotion  so  evanescent, 
or  the  imagination  so  remote,  that  it  cannot  be  flashed  upon 


THE    SIGNIFICANCE   OF   WORDS.  53 

the  '  inward  eye,'  it  is  hinted  to  the  inward  ear  by  some 
exquisite  variation  of  tone.  An  American  essayist  on  Shak- 
speare,  Mr.  Emerson,  in  speaking  of  the  impossibility  of 
acting  or  reciting  his  plays,  refers  to  this  magical  sug- 
gestiveness  in  a  sentence  almost  as  remarkable  as  the  thing 
it  describes.  'The  recitation,'  he  says,  'begins;  one  golden 
word  leaps  out  immortal  from  all  this  painted  pedantry, 
inn/  sweetly  torments  us  with  invitations  to  its  own  inaccessi- 
ble homes!'  He  who  has  not  felt  this  witchery  in  Shak- 
speare's  style  has  never  read  him.  He  may  have  looked  at 
the  words,  but  has  never  looked  into  them." 

The  fact  that  words  are  never  taken  absolutely, —  that 
they  are  expressions,  not  simply  of  thoughts  or  feelings, 
but  of  natures, —  that  they  are  media  for  the  emission  and 
transpiration  of  character,  —  is  one  that  cannot  be  too 
deeply  pondered  by  young  speakers  and  writers.  Fluent 
young  men  who  wonder  that  the  words  which  they  utter 
with  such  glibness  and  emphasis  have  so  little  weight  with 
their  hearers,  should  ask  themselves  whether  their  char- 
acters are  such  as  to  give  weight  to  their  words.  As  in 
engineering  it  is  a  rule  that  a  cannon  should  be  at  least  one 
hundred  times  heavier  than  its  shot,  so  a  man's  character 
should  be  a  hundred  times  heavier  than  what  he  says. 
When  a  La  Place  or  a  Humboldt  talks  of  the  "  universe," 
the  word  has  quite  another  meaning  than  when  it  is  used 
by  plain  John  Smith,  whose  ideas  have  never  extended  be- 
yond the  town  of  Hull.  So,  when  a  man's  friend  gives  him 
religious  advice,  and  talks  of  "  the  solemn  responsibilities 
of  life,"  it  makes  a  vast  difference  in  the  weight  of  the 
words  whether  they  come  from  one  who  has  been  tried  and 
proved  in  the  world's  fiery  furnace,  and  whose  whole  life 
has  been  a  trip-hammer  to  drive  home  what  he  says,  or 


54  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

from  a  callow  youth  who  prates  of  that  which  he  feels  not, 
and  testifies  to  things  which  are  not  realities  to  his  own 
consciousness.  There  is  a  hollow  ring  in  the  words  of  the 
Cleverest  man  who  talks  of  "  trials  and  tribulations  "  which 
he  has  never  felt.  "  Words,"  says  the  learned  Selden, 
"  must  be  fitted  to  a  man's  mouth.  'Twas  well  said  by  the 
fellow  that  was  to  make  a  speech  for  my  Lord  Mayor,  that 
he  desired  first  to  take  measure  of  his  Lordship's  mouth." 

We  are  accustomed  to  go  to  the  dictionary  for  the  mean- 
ing of  words ;  but  it  is  life  that  discloses  to  us  their  signifi- 
cance in  all  the  vivid  realities  of  experience.  It  is  the 
actual  world,  with  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  pleasures  and 
pains,  that  reveals  to  us  their  joyous  or  terrible  meanings  — 
meanings  not  to  be  found  in  Worcester  or  Webster.  Does 
the  young  and  light-hearted  maiden  know  the  meaning  of 
"  sorrow,"  or  the  youth  just  entering  on  a  business  career 
understand  the  significance  of  the  words  "  failure "  and 
"  protest "  ?  Go  to  the  hod-carrier,  climbing  the  many-storied 
building  under  a  July  sun,  for  the  meaning  of  "  toil " ;  and, 
for  a  definition  of  "  overwork,"  go  to  the  pale  seamstress 
who 

"  In  midnight's  chill  and  murk 
Stitches  her  life  into  her  work; 
Bending  backwards  from  her  toil, 
Lest  her  tears  the  silk  might  soil; 
Shaping  from  her  hitter  thought 
Heart' s-ease  and  forget-me-not; 
Satirizing  her  despair 
With  the  emblems  woven  there!" 

Ask  the  hoary-headed  debauchee,  bankrupt  in  purse,  friends, 
and  reputation, —  with  disease  racking  every  limb, —  for  the 
definition  of  "  remorse";  and  go  to  the  bedside  of  the  invalid 
for  the  proper  understanding  of  "health."  Life,  with  its 
inner  experience,  reveals  to  us  the  tremendous  force  of 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF    WORDS.  *55 

words,  and  writes  upon  our  hearts  the  ineffaceable  records 
of  their  meanings.  Man  is  a  dictionary,  and  human  expe- 
rience the  great  lexicographer.  Hundreds  of  human  beings 
pass  from  their  cradles  to  their  graves  who  know  not  the 
force  of  the  commonest  terms ;  while  to  others  their  terrible 
significance  comes  home  .like  an  electric  flash,  and  sends  a 
thrill  to  the  innermost  fibres  of  their  being. 

To  conclude, —  it  is  one  of  the  marvels  of  language, 
that  out  of  the  twenty  plain  elementary  sounds  of  which 
the  human  voice  is  capable,  have  been  formed  all  the 
articulate  voices  which,  for  six  thousand  or  more  years, 
have  sufficed  to  express  all  the  sentiments  of  the  human 
race.  Few  as  are  these  sounds,  it  has  been  calculated 
that  one  thousand  million  writers,  in  one  thousand  mill- 
ion years,  could  not  write  out  all  the  combinations  of 
the  twenty-four  letters  of  the  alphabet,  if  each  writer 
were  daily  to  write  out  forty  pages  of  them,  and  if 
each  page  should  contain  different  orders  of  the  twenty- 
four  letters.  Another  remarkable  fact  is  that  the  vocal 
organs  are  so  constructed  as  to  be  exactly  adapted  to  the 
properties  of  the  atmosphere  which  conveys  their  sounds, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  organs  of  hearing  are  fitted 
to  receive  with  pleasure  the  sounds  conveyed.  Who  can 
estimate  the  misery  that  man  would  experience  were  his 
sense  of  hearing  so  acute  that  the  faintest  whisper  would 
give  him  pain,  and  a  peal  of  thunder  strike  him  deaf  or 
dead? 

"  If  Nature  thunder'd  in  his  opening  ears, 
And  stunn'd  him  with  the  magic  of  the  spheres, 
How  would  he  wish  that  Heaven  had  left  him  still, 
The  whispering  zephyr  and  the  purling  rill!" 


56  WOEDS;    THEIR   USE  AND  ABUSE. 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE   MORALITY   IN   WORDS. 

Genus  dicendi  imitatur  publicos  mores.  .  .  Non  potest  alius  esse  ingenio, 
alius  anirao  color.  —  SENECA. 

The  world  is  satisfied  with  words;  few  care  to  dive  beneath  the  surface. 
—  PASCAL. 

Words  are  the  signs  and  symbols  of  things;  and  as  in  account*,  ciphers 
and  symbols  pass  for  real  sums,  so,  in  the  course  of  human  affairs,  words 
and  names  pass  for  things  themselves.  —  ROBERT  SOUTH. 

Woe  to  them  that  call  evil  good,  and  good  evil.—  ISAIAH  v.  30. 


E  fact  that  a  man's  language  is  a  part  of  his  charac- 
-L  ter,  —  that  the  words  he  uses  are  an  index  to  his  mind 
and  heart,  —  must  have  been  noted  long  before  language 
was  made  a  subject  of  investigation.  "  Discourse,"  says 
Quintilian,  "  reveals  character,  and  discloses  the  secret  dis- 
position and  temper;  and  not  without  reason  did  the  Greeks 
teach  that  as  a  man  lived  so  would  he  speak."  Prof*  rt 
enim  mores  plerumque  oratio,  et  animi  secreta  deter/it.  \/  <• 
sine  causa  Greed  prodiderunt,  ut  vivat,  quemque  etiani  dicci-f. 
When  a  clock  is  foul  and  disordered,  its  wheels  warped  or 
cogs  broken,  the  bell-hammer  and  the  hands  will  proclaim 
the  fact;  instead  of  being  a  guide,  it  will  mislead,  and, 
while  the  disorder  continues,  will  continually  betray  its  own 
infirmity.  So  when  a  man's  mind  is  disordered  or  his  heart 
corrupted,  there  will  gather  on  his  face  and  in  his  language 
an  expression  corresponding  to  the  irregularities  within. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  physiognomy  in  the  speech  as  well  as  in 
the  face.  As  physicians  judge  of  the  state  of  the  body,  so 
may  we  judge  of  the  mind,  by  the  tongue.  Except  under 


THE    MORALITY   IN    WORDS.  57 

peculiar  circumstances,  where  prudence,  shame,  or  delicacy, 
seals  the  mouth,  the  objects  dearest  to  the  heart, —  the  pet 
words,  phrases,  or  shibboleths,  the  terms  expressing  our 
strongest  appetencies  and  antipathies, —  will  rise  most  fre- 
quently to  the  lips;  and  Ben  Jonson,  therefore,  did  not 
exaggerate  in  saying  that  no  glass  renders  a  man's  form 
and  likeness  so  true  as  his  speech.  "As  a  man  speaks,  so 
he  thinks;  and  as  he  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he." 

If  a  man  is  clear-headed,  noble-minded,  sincere,  just, 
and  pure  in  thought  and  feeling,  these  qualities  will  be 
symbolized  in  his  words;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  has 
a  confused  habit  of  thought,  is  mean,  grovelling,  and  hypo- 
critical, these  characteristics  will  reveal  themselves  in  his 
speech.  The  door-keeper  of  an  alien  household  said  to 
Peter,  "  Thou  art  surely  a  Galilean;  thy  speech  bewrayeth 
thee" ;  and  so  in  spite  of  all  masks  and  professions,  in  spite 
of  his  reputation,  the  essential  nature  of  every  person  will 
stamp  itself  on  his  language.  How  often  do  the  words  and 
tones  of  a  professedly  religious  man,  who  gives  liberally  to 
the  church,  prays  long  and  loud  in  public,  and  attends 
rigidly  to  every  outward  observance,  betray  in  some  myste- 
rious way  the  utter  worldliness  of  his  character!  How 
frequently  do  words  uttered  volubly,  and  with  a  pleasing 
elocution,  affect  us  as  mere  sounds,  suggesting  only  the 
hollo wness  and  unreality  of  the  speaker's  character!  How 
often  does  the  use  of  a  single  word  flash  more  light  upon  a 
man's  motives  and  principles  of  action,  give  a  deeper  insight 
into  his  habits  of  thought  and  feeling,  than  an  entire  biog- 
raphy! How  often  when  a  secret  sorrow  preys  upon  the 
heart,  which  we  would  fain  hide  from  the  world  by  a 
smiling  face,  do  we  betray  it  unconsciously  by  a  trivial  or 
parenthetical  word !  Fast  locked  do  we  deem  our  Bluebeard 
3* 


58  WOKDS;    THEIR   USE  AND  ABUSE. 

chamber  to  be,  the  key  and  the  secret  of  which  we  have  in 
our  own  possession;  yet  all  the  time  a  crimson  stream  is 
flowing  across  the  door-sill,  telling  of  murdered  hopes 
within. 

Out  of  the  immense  magazine  of  words  furnished  by 
our  English  vocabulary, —  embracing  over  a  hundred  thou- 
sand distinct  terms, —  each  man  selects  his  own  favorite 
expressions,  his  own  forms  of  syntax,  by  a  peculiar  law 
which  is  part  of  the  essential  diiference  between  him  and 
all  other  men;  and  in  the  verbal  stock-in-trade  of  each  in- 
dividual we  should  find,  could  it  once  be  laid  open  to  us, 
a  key  that  would  unlock  many  of  the  deepest  mysteries  of 
his  humanity, —  many  of  the  profoundest  secrets  of  his  pri- 
vate history.  How  often  is  a  man's  character  revealed  by 
the  adjectives  he  uses!  Like  the  inscriptions  on  a  ther- 
mometer, these  words  of  themselves  reveal  the  tempera- 
ment. The  conscientious  man  weighs  his  words  as  in  a 
hair-balance;  the  boaster  and  the  enthusiast  employ  ex- 
treme phrases,  as  if  there  were  no  degree  but  the  super- 
lative. The  cautious  man  uses  words  as  the  rifleman  does 
bullets;  he  utters  but  few  words,  but  they  go  to  the  mark 
like  a  gunshot,  and  then  he  is  silent  again,  as  if  he  were 
reloading.  The  dogmatist  is  known  by  his  sweeping,  em- 
phatic language,  and  the  absence  of  all  qualifying  terms, 
such  as  "  perhaps "  and  "  it  may  be."  The  fact  that  the 
word  "glory"  predominates  in  all  of  Bonaparte's  dispatches, 
while  in  those  of  his  great  adversary,  Wellington,  which  fill 
twelve  enormous  volumes,  it  never  once  occurs  —  not  even 
after  the  hardest  won  victory, —  but  "  duty,"  "  duty,"  is  inva- 
riably named  as  the  motive  for  every  action,  speaks  volumes 
touching  their  respective  characters.  It  was  to  work  out 
the  problem  of  self-aggrandizement  that  Napoleon  devoted 


THE    MORALITY    IX    WORDS.  59 

all  his  colossal  powers;  and  conscience,  responsibility,  and 
kindred  terms,  seem  never  to  have  found  their  way  into 
his  vocabulary.  Men,  with  their  physical  and  moral  force, 
their  bodily  energies,  and  their  passions,  prejudices,  delu- 
sions, and  enthusiasms,  were  to  him  but  as  fuel  to  swell 
the  blaze  on  the  altar  of  that  ambition  of  which  he  was 
at  once  the  priest  and  deity.  Of  duties  to  them  he  never 
for  a  moment  dreamed;  for,  from  the  hot  May-day  of  Lodi 
to  the  autumnal  night  of  Moscow,  when  he  fled  the  flam- 
ing Kremlin,  he'  seemed  unconscious  that  he  was  himself 
a  created  and  responsible  being. 

Dr.  Arnold  has  strikingly  shown  how  we  may  judge  of 
a  historian  by  his  style,  his  language  being  an  infallible 
index  to  his  character.  "  If  it  is  very  heavy  and  cum- 
brous, it  indicates  either  a  dull  man  or  a  pompous  man, 
or  at  least  a  slow  and  awkward  man;  if  it  be  tawdry 
and  full  of  commonplaces  enunciated  with  great  solemnity, 
the  writer  is  most  likely  a  silly  man;  if  it  be  highly  an- 
tithetical and  full  of  unusual  expressions,  or  artificial  ways 
of  stating  a  plain  thing,  the  writer  is  clearly  an  affected 
man.  If  it  be  plain  and  simple,  always  clear,  but  never 
eloquent,  the  writer  may  be  a  very  sensible  man,  but  is 
too  hard  and  dry  to  be  a  very  great  man.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  always  elegant,  rich  in  illustrations,  and 
without  the  relief  of  simple  and  great  passages,  we  must 
admire  the  writer's  genius  in  a  very  high  degree,  but  we 
may  fear  that  he  is  too  continually  excited  to  have  attained 
to  the  highest  wisdom,  for  that  is  necessarily  calm.  In 
this  manner  the  mere  language  of  a  historian  will  fur- 
nish us  with  something  of  a  key  to  his  mind,  and  will 
tell  us,  or  at  least  give  us  cause  to  presume,  in  what  his 
main  strength  lies,  and  in  what  he  is  deficient." 


60  WORDS;  THEIE  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

As  with  individuals,  so  with  nations:  the  language  of  a 
people  is  often  a  moral  barometer,  which  marks  with  mar- 
vellous precision  the  rise  or  fall  of  the  national  life.  The 
stock  of  words  composing  any  language  corresponds  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  community  that  speaks  it,  and  shows  with 
what  objects  it  is  familiar,  what  generalizations  it  has  made, 
what  distinctions  it  has  drawn, —  all  its  cognitions  and  rea- 
sonings, in  the  worlds  of  matter  and  of  mind.  "As  our 
material  condition  varies,  as  our  ways  of  life,  our  institu- 
tions, public  and  private,  become  other  than  they  have 
been,  all  is  necessarily  reflected  in  our  language.  In  these 
days  of  railroads,  steamboats,  and  telegraphs,  of  sun  pic- 
tures, of  chemistry  and  geology,  of  improved  wearing  stuffs, 
furniture,  styles  of  building,  articles  of  food  and  luxury 
of  every  description,  how  many  words  and  phrases  are  in 
everyone's  mouth  which  would  be  utterly  unintelligible  to 
the  most  learned  man  of  a  century  ago,  were  he  to  rise 
from  his  grave  and  walk  our  streets !  ...  Language  is  ex- 
panded and  contracted  in  precise  adaptation  to  the  cir- 
cumstances and  needs  of  those  who  use  it;  it  is  enriched 
or  impoverished,  in  every  part,  along  with  the  enrichment 
or  impoverishment  of  their  minds."*  Every  race  has  its 
own  organic  growth,  its  own  characteristic  ideas  and 
opinions,  which  are  impressed  on  its  political  constitu- 
tion, its  legislation,  its  manners  and  its  customs,  its  modes 
of  religious  worship;  and  the  expression  of  all  these  pecu- 
liarities is  found  in  its  speech.  If  a  people  is,  as  Milton 
said  of  the  English,  a  noble  and  a  puissant  nation,  of  a 
quick,  ingenious,  and  piercing  spirit,  acute  to  invent  and 
subtile  to  discourse,  its  language  will  exhibit  all  these 
qualities ;.  while,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  is  frivolous  and 

*  "  Language  and  the  Study  of  Language,"  by  W.  D.  Whitney. 


THE    MORALITY   IN   WORDS.  61 

low-thoughted, —  if  it  is  morally  bankrupt  and  dead  to  all 
lofty  sentiments, —  its  mockery  of  virtue,  its  inability  to 
comprehend  the  true  dignity  and  meaning  of  life,  the 
feebleness  of  its  moral  indignation,  will  all  inevitably  be- 
tray themselves  in  its  speech,  as  truly  as  would  the  oppo- 
site qualities  of  spirituality  of  thought  and  exaltation  of 
soul.  These  discreditable  qualities  will  find  an  utterance 
"  in  the  use  of  solemn  and  earnest  words  in  senses  com- 
paratively trivial  or  even  ridiculous;  in  the  squandering 
of  such  as  ought  to  have  been  reserved  for  the  highest 
mysteries  of  the  spiritual  life,  on  slight  and  secular  ob- 
jects; and  in  the  employment,  almost  in  jest  and  play,  of 
words  implying  the  deepest  moral  guilt." 

Could  anything  be  more  significant  of  the  profound 
degradation  of  a  people  than  the  abject  character  of  the 
complimentary  and  social  dialect  of  the  Italians,  and  the 
pompous  appellations  with  which  they  dignify  things  in 
themselves  insignificant,  as  well  as  their  constant  use  of 
intensives  and  superlatives  on  the  most  trivial  occasions? 
Is  it  not  a  notable  fact  that  they,  who  for  so  long  a  time 
had  no  country, —  on  whose  altars  the  fires  of  patriotism 
have,  till  of  late,  burned  so  feebly, —  use  the  word  pelle- 
<l>'inOj  (foreign,)  as  a  synonyme  for  "  excellent  "?  Might  we 
not  almost  infer  a  priori  the  servile  condition  to  which,- 
previous  to  their  late  uprising,  centuries  of  tyranny  had 
reduced  them,  from  the  fact  that  with  the  same  people,  so 
many  of  whom  are  clothed  in  rags,  a  man  of  honor  is  "  a 
well-dressed  man";  that  a  virtuoso,  or  virtuous  man,  is 
one  who  is  accomplished  in  music,  painting,  and  sculpt- 
ure,—  arts  which  should  be  the  mere  embroidery,  and  not 
the  web  and  woof,  of  a  nation's  life;  that,  in  their  mag- 
nificent indigence,  they  call  a  cottage  with  three  or  four 


62  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

acres  of  land  "  a  power " ;  that  they  term  every  house 
with  a  large  door  tin  palazzo  (a  palace),  a  lamb's  fry  itna 
cosa  stupenda,  (a  stupendous  thing),  and  that  a  message 
sent  by  a  footman  to  his  tailor  through  a  scullion  is  "an 
embassy"? 

Let  us  not,  however,  infer  the  hopeless  depravity  of  any 
people  from  the  baseness  of  the  tongue  they  have  inherited, 
not  chosen.  It  makes  a  vast  difference,  as  Prof.  Marsh 
justly  observes,  whether  words  expressive  of  noble  thoughts 
and  mighty  truths  do  not  exist  in  a  language,  or  whether 
ages  of  soul-crushing  tyranny  have  compelled  their  disuse 
and  the  employment  of  the  baser  part  of  the  national 
vocabulary.  The  mighty  events  that  have  lately  taken 
place  in  Italy  "  show  that  a  tone  of  hypocrisy  may  cling 
to  the  tongue,  long  after  the  spirit  of  a  nation  is  eman- 
cipated, and  that  where  grand  words  are  found  in  a  speech, 
there  grand  thoughts,  noble  purposes,  high  resolves  exist 
also,  or,  at  least,  the  spark  slumbers  which  a  favoring 
breath  may,  at  any  moment,  kindle  into  a  cherishing  and 
devouring  flame."* 

A  late  writer  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  French 
language,  while  it  has  such  positive  expressions  as  "drunk" 
and  "tipsy,"  conveyed  by  ivre  and  gris,  contains  no  such 
negative  term  as  "  sober."  Sobre  means  always  "  temper- 
ate" or  "abstemious,"  never  the  opposite  condition  to 
intoxication.  The  English,  it  is  argued,  drink  enough  to 
need  a  special  illustrative  title  for  a  man  who  has  not 
drunk;  but  though  the  Parisians  began  to  drink  alcohol 
freely  during  the  sieges,  the  French  "  have  never  yet  felt 
the  necessity  of  forming  any  such  curious  subjective  ap- 
pellation, consequently  they  have  not  got  it."  Again,  the 

*"  Lectures  on  the  English  Language." 


THE   MORALITY    IN    WORDS.  63 

French  boast  that  they  have  no  such  word  as  bribe f  as  if 
this  implied  their  exemption  from  that  sin;  and  such,  in- 
deed, may  be  the  fact.  But  may  not  the  absence  of  this 
word  from  their  vocabulary  prove,  on  the  contrary,  their 
lack  of  sensibility  to  the  heinous  nature  of  the  offence, 
just  as  the  lack  of  the  word  humility  in  the  language  of 
the  Greeks,  usually  so  rich  in  terms,  proves  that  they 
lacked  the  thing  itself,  or  as  the  fact  that  the  same  peo- 
ple had  no  word  corresponding  to  the  Latin  ineptus,  argues, 
as  Cicero  thought,  not  that  the  character  designated  by  the 
word  was  wanting  among  them,  but  that  the  fault  was 
so  universal  with  them  that  they  failed  to  recognize  it  as 
such?  Is  it  not  a  great  defect  in  a  language  that  it  lacks 
the  words  by  which  certain  forms  of  baseness  or  sinfulness, 
in  those  who  speak  it,  may  be  brought  home  to  their  con- 
sciousness? Can  we  properly  hate  or  abhor  any  wicked 
act  till  we  have  given  it  a  specific  objective  existence  by 
giving  it  a  name  which  shall  at  once  designate  and  con- 
demn it?  The  pot-de-vin,  and  other  jesting  phrases  which 
the  French  have  coined  to  denote  bribery,  can  have  no 
effect  but  to  encourage  this  wrong. 

What  shall  we  think  of  the  fact  that  the  French  lan- 
guage has  no  word  equivalent  to  "listener"?  Is  it  not 
a  noteworthy  circumstance,  shedding  light  upon  national 
character,  that  among  thirty-seven  million  of  talkers,  no 
provision,  except  the  awkward  paraphrase  celui  qui  ecoute 
(he  who  hears),  should  have  been  made  for  hearers?  Is 
there  any  other  explanation  of  this  blank  than  the  sup- 
position that  every  Frenchman  talks  from  the  pure  love 
of  talking,  and  not  to  be  heard;  that,  reversing  the  pro- 
verb, he  believes  that  "  silence  is  silver,  but  talking  is 
golden";  and  that,  not  caring  whether  he  is  listened  to 


64  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

or  not,  he  has  never  recognized  that  he  has  no  name  for 
the  person  to  whom  he  chatters?  Again,  is  it  not  remark- 
able that,  among  the  French,  bonhomme  (a  good  man)  is 
a  term  of  contempt;  that  the  fearful  Hebrew  word, 
"  gehenna,"  has  been  condensed  into  gene,  and  means  only 
a  petty  annoyance;  and  that  Iwnnetete,  which  once  meant 
honesty,  now  means  only  civility?  It  was  in  the  latter 
half  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  that  the  word  honnete 
exchanged  its  primitive  for  its  present  meaning.  Till  then, 
according  to  good  authority,  when  a  man's  descent  was 
said  to  be  honnete,  he  was  complimented  on  the  virtuous- 
ness  of  his  progenitors,  not  reminded  of  the  mediocrity 
of  their  condition;  and  when  the  same  term  was  applied 
to  his  family,  it  was  an  acknowledgment  that  they  be- 
longed to  the  middle  ranks  of  society,  not  a  suggestion 
that  they  were  plebeians.  Again:  how  significant  is  the 
fact  that  the  French  have  no  such  words  as  "home," 
"comfort,"  "spiritual,"  and  but  one  word  for  "love"  and 
"  like,"  compelling  them  to  put  Heaven's  last  gift  to  man 
on  a  par  with  an  article  of  diet;  as,  "I  love  Julia,"-  -"I 
love  a  leg  of  mutton"?  Couple  with  these  peculiarities 
of  the  language  the  circumstance  that  the  French  term 
x/>irituel  means  simply  witty,  with  a  certain  quickness, 
delicacy,  and  versatility  of  mind,-  and  have  you  not  a  real 
insight  into  the  national  character? 

It  is  said  that  the  word  oftenest  on  a  Frenchman's 
lips  is  la  gloire,  and  next  to  that,  perhaps,  is  hrilhtut  — 
brilliant.  The  utility  of  a  feat  or  achievement  in  literature 
or  science,  in  war  or  politics,  surgery  or  mechanics,  is 
of  little  moment  in  his  eyes  unless  it  also  dazzles  and 
excites  surprise.  It  is  said  that  Sir  Astley  COOJXT.  tin' 
great  British  surgeon,  on  visiting  the  French  capital,  was 


THE   MORALITY    1ST   WORDS.  65 

asked  by  the  surgeon  en  chef  of  the  empire  how  many 
times  he  had  performed  some  feat  of  surgery  that  required 
a  rare  union  of  dexterity  and  nerve.  He  replied  that  he 
had  performed  the  operation  thirteen  times.  "Ah!  but, 
Monsieur,  I  have  performed  him  one  hundred  and  sixty 
time.  How  many  time  did  you  save  his  life?"  continued 
the  curious  Frenchman,  as  he  saw  the  blank  amazement 
of  Sir  Astley's  face.  "  I,"  said  the  Englishman,  "  saved 
eleven  out  of  the  thirteen.  How  many  did  you  save  out 
of  a  hundred  and  sixty?"  "Ah!  Monsieur,  I  lose  dem 
all;  —  but  de  operation  was  very  brillant!" 

The  author  of  "  Pickwick "  tells  us  that  in  America 
the  sign  vocal  for  starting  a  coach,  steamer,  railway  train, 
etc.,  is  "Go  Ahead!"  while  with  John  Bull  the  ritual 
form  is  "All  Right!" — and  he  adds  that  these  two  ex- 
pressions are  perfect  embodiments  of  the  respective  moods 
of  the  two  nations.  There  is  some  exaggeration  in  this; 
yet  the  two  phrases  are,  on  the  whole,  vivid  miniatures  of 
John  Bull  and  his  restless  brother,  who  sits  on  the  safety- 
valve  that  he  may  travel  faster,  pours  oil  and  rosin  into 
his  steam-furnaces,  leaps  from  the  cars  before  they  have 
entered  the  depot,  and  who  would  hardly  object  to  being 
fired  oif  from  a  cannon  or  in  a  bombshell,  provided  there 
were  one  chance  in  fifty  of  getting  sooner  to  the  end  of  his 
journey.  Let  us  hope  that  the  day  may  yet  come  when 
our  "  two-forty  "  people  will  exchange  a  little  of  their  fiery 
activity  for  a  bit  of  Bull's  caution,  and  when  our  Yankee 
Herald's  College,  if  we  ever  have  one,  may  declare  "All 
Eight!"  to  be  the  motto  of  our  political  escutcheon,  with 
as  much  propriety  as  it  might  now  inscribe  "Go  Ahead!" 
beneath  that  fast  fowl,  the  annexing  and  screaming  eagle, 
that  hovers  over  the  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  dips 


66  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

its  wings  in  two  oceans,  and  has  one  eye  on  Cuba  and  the 
other  on  Quebec. 

A  volume  might  be  filled  with  illustrations  of  the  truth 
that  the  language  of  nations  is  a  mirror,  in  which  may 
be  seen  reflected  with  unerring  accuracy  all  the  elements 
of  their  intellectual  as  well  as  of  their  moral  character. 
What  scholar  that  is  familiar  with  Greek  and  Latin  has 
failed  to  remark  how  indelibly  the  contrariety  of  char- 
acter in  the  two  most  civilized  nations  of  antiquity  is  im- 
pressed on  their  languages,  distinguished  as  is  the  one 
by  exuberant  originality,  the  other  by  innate  poverty  of 
thought?  In  the  Greek,  that  most  flexible  and  perfect  of 
all  the  European  tongues,  the  thought  controls  and  shapes" 
the  language;  while  the  tyrannous  objectivity  of  the  Latin, 
rigid  and  almost  cruel,  like  the  nation  whose  voice  it  is, 
coerces  rather  than  simply  syllables  the  thought.  The 
words  of  the  latter,  as  Prof.  Marsh  remarks,  are  always 

"Sic  volo,  sic  jubeo,  stet  pro  ratkme  voluntas"; 

and  "  it  is  almost  as  much  by  the  imperatorial  character 
of  the  language  itself, —  the  speech  of  masters,  not  of 
men, —  as  by  the  commanding  position  of  the  people  to 
whom  it  was  vernacular,  and  of  the  church  which  saga- 
ciously adopted  it,  that  it  has  so  powerfully  influenced 
the  development  and  the  existing  tendencies  of  all  modern 
European  tongues,  even  of  those  which  have  borrowed  the 
fewest  words  from  it." 

It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that,  as  the  Romans  were  the 
most  majestic  of  nations,  so  theirs  is  the  only  ancient 
language  that  contains  the  word  majesty,  the  Greek  having 
nothing  that  exactly  corresponds  to  it;  and  the  Latin 
language  is  as  majestic  as  were  the  Romans  themselves. 


THE   MORALITY   IN   WORDS.  67 

While  the  Romans  retained  their  early  simplicity  and 
nobility  of  soul,  their  language  was  full  of  power  and 
truth;  but  when  they  became  luxurious,  sensual,  and  cor- 
rupt, their  words  degenerated  into  miserable  and  meaning- 
less counters,  without  intrinsic  value,  and  serving  only  as 
a  conventional  medium  of  exchange.  "  In  the  pedantry 
of  Statius,  in  the  puerility  of  Martial,  in  the  conceits  of 
Seneca,  in  the  poets  who  would  go  into  emulous  rapt- 
ures on  the  beauty  of  a  lap-dog  and  the  apotheosis  of  a 
eunuch's  hair,  we  read  the  hand-writing  of  an  empire's 
condemnation." 

Both  the  climate  of  a  country  and  the  mind  of  its 
people  are  revealed  in  its  speech.  "  The  mountain  Greek 
has  no  tone  of  the  soft  Ionic.  The  Anglo-Saxon  casts 
abroad  in  its  short,  stern,  and  solemn  words,  the  awful- 
ness  of  the  forests  where  it  grew."  It  is  said  that  in  the 
South  Sea  Islands  version  of  the  New  Testament  there 
are  whole  chapters  with  no  words  ending  in  consonants, 
except  the  proper  names  of  the  original.  Italian  has  been 
called  the  love-talk  of  the  Roman  without  his  armor. 
Fuller,  contrasting  the  Italians  and  the  Swiss,  quaintly 
remarks  that  the  former,  "  whose  country  is  called  the 
country  of  good  words,  love  the  circuits  of  courtesy,  that 
an  ambassador  should  not,  as  a  sparrow-hawk,  fly  outright 
to  his  prey,  and  meddle  presently  with  the  matter  in  hand; 
but,  with  the  noble  falcon,  mount  in  language,  soar  high, 
fetch  compasses  of  compliment,  and  then  in  due  time  stoop 
to  game,  and  seize  on  the  business  propounded.  Clean  con- 
trary the  Switzers  (who  sent  word  to  the  king  of  France 
not  to  send  them  an  ambassador  with  store  of  words,  but 
a  treasurer  with  plenty  of  money,)  count  all  words  quite 
out  which  are  not  straight  on,  have  an  antipathy  against 


68  WOBDS;    THEIR  USE   AND   ABUSE. 

eloquent  language,  the  flowers  of  rhetoric  being  as  offen- 
sive to  them  as  sweet  perfume  to  such  as  are  troubled 
with  the  mother;  yea,  generally,  great  soldiers  have  their 
stomachs  sharp  set  to  feed  on  the  matter;  loathing  long 
speeches,  as  wherein  they  conceive  themselves  to  lose  time, 
in  which  they  could  conquer  half  a  country;  and,  counting 
bluntiress  their  best  eloquence,  love  to  be  accosted  in  their 
own  kind." 

It  is  in  the  idioms  of  a  people,  its  peculiar  turns  of  ex- 
pression, and  the  modifications  of  meaning  which  its  bor- 
rowed words  have  undergone,  that  its  distinctive  genius  is 
most  strikingly  seen.  The  forms  of  salutation  used  by  dif- 
ferent nations  are  saturated  with  their  idiosyncrasies,  and 
of  themselves  alone  essentially  reveal  their  respective  char- 
acters. How  clearly  is  the  innermost  distinction  between 
the  Greek  mind  and  the  Hebrew  brought  out  in  the  "  Re- 
joice" of  the  one  and  the  "Peace"  of  the  other!  How 
vividly  are  contrasted,  in  the  two  salutations,  the  sunny, 
world-enjoying  temper  of  the  one  people  with  the  profound 
religious  feeling  of  the  other!  The  formula  of  the  robust, 
energetic,  valiant  Roman,  with  whom  health  was  another 
name  for  happiness,  was  "  Salve!  "  that  is,  "  Be  well,"  "  Be 
strong."  In  the  expression,  "  If  God  wills  it,  you  are  well," 
is  betrayed  the  fatalism  of  the  Arab;  while  the  greeting  of 
the  Turk,  "  May  your  shadow  never  be  less!  "  speaks  of  a 
sunny  clime.  In  the  hot,  oppressive  climate  of  Egypt,  per- 
spiration is  necessary  to  health,  and  you  are  asked,  "  How 
do  you  perspire ?"  The  Italian  asks,  "Comesta?" — liter- 
ally, "How  does  he  stand?"  an  expression  originally  refer- 
'ring  to  the  standing  of  the  Lombard  merchants  in  the  mar- 
ket-place, and  which  seems  to  indicate  that  one's  well-being 
or  health  depends  on  his  business  prosperity.  The  dreamy, 


THE   MOKALITY    IN    WORDS.  69 

meditative  German,  dwelling  among  abstractions,  salutes 
you  with  the  vague,  impersonal,  metaphysical,  "  Wie 
gehts?" — "How  goes  it?"  Another  salutation  which  he 
uses  is  "  Wie  befinden  sie  sich?" — literally,  "  How  do  they 
find  themselves?"  A  born  philosopher,  he  is  so  absent- 
minded,  so  lost  in  thought,  that  he  thinks  you  cannot  tell 
him  of  the  state  of  your  health  till  you  have  searched  for 
and  found  it. 

The  trading  Hollander,  who  scours  the  world,  asks, 
"How. do  you  go?"  The  thoughtful  Swede  inquires, 
"  How  do  you  think?  "  The  Frenchman,  who  lives  in  oth- 
ers' eyes,  and  is  more  anxious  about  appearances  than  real- 
ities,—  who  has  never  to  hunt  himself  up  like  the  German, 
and  desires  less  to  do,  like  the  Anglo-Saxon,  than  to  be 
lively,  to  show  himself, —  says  frankly,  "Comment  vous 
portez-vous? " — "How  do  you  carry  yourself?"  It  has 
been  said  that  a  man  would  be  owl-blind,  who,  in  the 
"  Hoo's  a'  wi'  ye?"  of  the  kindly  Scot,  could  not  perceive 
the  mixture  of  national  pawkiness  with  hospitable  cordial- 
ity. "  One  sees,  in  the  mind's  eye,  the  canny  chield,  who 
would  invite  you  to  dinner,  three  days  in  the  week,  but 
who  would  look  twice  at  your  bill  before  he  discounted  it." 
What  can  be  more  unmistakably  characteristic  than  the 
Irish  peasant's  "Long  life  to  your  honor;  may  you  make 
your  bed  in  glory!"  .After  such  a  grandiose  salute,  we 
need  no  mouser  among  the  records  of  antiquity  to  certify 
to  us  that  the  Hibernian  is  of  Oriental  origin,  nor  do  we 
need  any  other  key  to  his  peculiar  vivacity  and  impression- 
ableness  of  feeling,  his  rollicking,  daredevil,  hyperbole-lov- 
ing enthusiasm.  Finally,  of  all  the  national  forms  of  salu- 
tation, the  most  signally  characteristic, —  the  one  which 
reveals  the  very  core,  the  inmost  "  heart  of  heart "  of  a 


70  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AHD  ABUSE. 

people, —  is  the  Englishman's  "  How  do  you  do?  "  In  these 
four  little  monosyllables  the  activity,  the  intense  practical- 
ity of  the  Englishman,  the  very  quintessence  of  his  charac- 
ter, are  revealed  as  by  a  lightning's  flash.  To  do !  Not  to 
think,  to  stand,  to  carry  yourself,  but  to  do  ;  and  this  doing 
is  so  universal  among  the  English, —  its  necessity  is  so  com- 
pletely recognized, —  that  no  one  dreams  of  asking  whether 
you  are  doing,  or  what  you  are  doing,  but  all  demand, 
"How  do  you  do?  " 

It  has  been  well  observed  by  the  learned  German  writer, 
J.  D.  Michaelis,  that  "  some  virtues  are  more  sedulously 
cultivated  by  moralists,  when  the  language  has  fit  names 
for  indicating  them;  whereas  they  are  but  superficially 
treated  of,  or  rather  neglected,  in  nations  where  such  vir- 
tues have  not  so  much  as  a  name.  Languages  may  obvi- 
ously do  injury  to  morals  and  religion  by  their  equivoca- 
tion; by  false  accessories,  inseparable  from  the  principal 
idea;  and  by  their  poverty."  It  is  a  striking  fact,  noted 
by  an  English  traveler,  that  the  native  language  of  Van 
Diemen's  Land  has  four  words  to  express  the  idea  of  taking 
life,  not  one  of  which  indicates  the  deep-lying  distinction 
between  to  kill  and  to  murder;  while  any  word  for  love  is 
wanting  to  it  altogether.  One  of  the  most  formidable  ob- 
stacles which  Christian  missionaries  have  encountered  in 
teaching  the  doctrines  and  precepts  of  the  Gospel  to  the 
heathen,  has  been  the  absence  from  their  languages  of  a 
spiritual  and  ethical  nomenclature.  It  is  in  vain  that  the 
religious  teachers  of  a  people  present  to  them  a  doctrinal  or 
ethical  system  inculcating  virtues  and  addressed  to  facul- 
ties, whose  very  existence  their  language,  and  consequently 
the  conscious  self-knowledge  of  the  people,  do  not  recog- 
nize. The  Greeks  and  Romans,  for  example,  had  a  clear 


THE   MORALITY   IN   WORDS.  71 

conception  of  a  moral  ideal,  but  the  Christian  idea  of  sin 
was  utterly  unknown  to  the  Pagan  mind.  Vice  they  re- 
garded as  simply  a  relaxed  energy  of  the  will,  by  which  it 
yielded  to  the  allurements  of  sensual  pleasure ;  and  virtue, 
literally  "  manliness,"  was  the  determined  spirit,  the  cour- 
age and  vigor  with  which  it  resisted  such  temptations. 
But  the  idea  of  holiness  and  the  antithetic  idea  of  sin  were 
such  utter  strangers  to  the  Pagan  mind  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  express  them  in  either  of  the 
classical  tongues  of  antiquity.  As  De  Maistre  has  strik- 
ingly observed,  man  knew  well  that  he  could  irritate  God 
or  a  god,  but  not  that  he  could  offend  him.  The  words 
crime  and  criminal  belong  to  all  languages:  those  of  sin 
and  sinner  belong  only  to  the  Christian  tongue.  For  a 
similar  reason,  man  could  always  call  God  father,  which 
expresses  only  a  relation  of  creation  and  of  power ;  but 
no  man,  of  his  own  strength,  could  say  my  father!  for 
this  is  a  relation  of  love,  foreign  even  to  Mount  Sinai, 
and  which  belongs  only  to  Calvary. 

Again  the  Greek  language,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
had  no  term  for  the  Christian  virtue  of  humility;  and 
when  the  apostle  Paul  coined  one  for  it,  he  had  to  em- 
ploy a  root  conveying  the  idea,  not  of  self-abasement 
before  a  just  and  holy  God,  but  of  positive  debasement 
and  meanness  of  spirit.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a 
word  in  our  own  tongue  which,  as  De  Quincey  observes, 
cannot  be  rendered  adequately  either  by  German  or  Greek, 
the  two  richest  of  human  languages,  and  without  which 
we  should  all  be  disarmed  for  one  great  case,  continually 
recurrent,  of  social  enormity.  It  is  the  word  humbug. 
"A  vast  mass  of  villainy,  that  cannot  otherwise  be  reached 
by  legal  penalties,  or  brought  within  the  rhetoric  of  scorn, 


72  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

would  go  at  large  with  absolute  impunity,  were  it  not 
through  the  stern  Rhadamanthian  aid  of  this  virtuous 
and  inexorable  word." 

There  is  no  way  in  which  men  so  often  become  the 
victims  of  error  as  by  an  imperfect  understanding  of  cer- 
tain words  which  are  artfully  used  by  their  superiors. 
Cynicism  is  seldom  shallower  than  when  it  sneers  at  what 
it  contemptuously  calls  the  power  of  words  over  the  popu- 
lar imagination.  If  men  are  agreed  about  things,  what,  it 
is  asked,  can  be  more  foolish  than  to  dispute  about  names? 
But  while  it  is  true  that  in  the  physical  world  things  domi- 
nate over  names,  and  are  not  at  the  mercy  of  a  shifting 
vocabulary,  yet  in  the  world  of  ideas, —  of  history,  philoso- 
phy, ethics,  and  poetry, —  words  triumph  over  things,  are 
even  equivalent  to  things,  and  are  as  truly  the  living  organ- 
ism of  thought  as  the  eyes,  lips,  and  entire  physiognomy  of 
a  man,  are  the  media  of  the  soul's  expression.  Hence  words 
are  the  only  certain  test  of  thought ;  so  much  so,  that,  as  one 
has  well  said,  we  often  stop  short  in  the  midst  of  an  asser- 
tion, an  exclamation,  or  a  request,  startled  by  the  form  it 
assumes  in  words.  Thus,  in  Shakspeare,  King  John  says 
to  Hubert,  who  pleaded  his  sovereign's  order  for  putting 
the  young  prince  to  death,  that,  if  5nftead  of  receiving  the 
order  in  signs, 

"  Thou 

Hadst  bid  me  tell  my  tale  in  express  words, 
Deep  shame  had  struck  me  dumb." 

Words  are  often  not  only  the  vehicle  of  thought,  but 
the  very  mirror  in  which  we  see  our  ideas,  and  behold  the 
beauty  or  ugliness  of  our  inner  selves. 

A  volume  might  be  written  on  the  mutual  influence  of 
language  and  opinion,  showing  that  the  opinion  we  enter- 
tain of  an  object  does  not  more  powerfully  influence  the 


THE   MORALITY    IN    WORDS.  73 

mind  in  applying  to  it  a  name  or  epithet,  than  the  epithet 
or  name  influences  the  opinion.  Call  thunder  "  the  bolt  of 
God's  wrath,"  and  you  awaken  a  feeling  of  terror;  call  it, 
with  the  German  peasant,  das  liebe  gewitter  (the  dear  thun- 
der), and  you  excite  a  different  emotion.  As  the  forms  in 
which  we  clothe  the  outward  expression  of  our  feelings 
react  with  mighty  force  upon  the  heart,  so  our  speculative 
opinions  are  greatly  confirmed  or  invalidated  by  the  tech- 
nical terms  we  employ.  Fiery  words,  it  has  been  truly 
remarked,  are  the  hot  blast  that  inflames  the  fuel  of  our 
passionate  nature,  and  formulated  doctrine  a  hedge  that 
confines  the  discursive  wanderings  of  the  thoughts.  The 
words  that  have  helped  us  to  conquer  the  truth,  often 
become  the  very  tyrants  of  our  convictions;  and  phrases 
once  big  with  meaning  are  repeated  till  they  "  ossify  the 
very  organs  of  intelligence."  False  or  partial  definitions 
often  lead  into  dangerous  errors;  an  impassioned  polemic 
falls  a  victim  to  his  own  logic,  and  a  wily  advocate  becomes 
the  dupe  of  his  own  rhetoric. 

Words,  in  short,  are  excellent  servants,  but  the  most 
tyrannical  of  masters.  Some  men  command  them,  but  a 
vast  majority  are  commanded  by  them.  There  ar.e  words 
which  have  exercised  a  more  iron  rule,  swayed  with  a  more 
despotic  power,  than  Ca?sar  or  the  Eussian  Czar.  Often  an 
idle  word  has  conquered  a  host  of  facts;  and  a  mistaken 
theory,  embalmed  in  a  widely-received  word,  has  retarded 
for  centuries  the  progress  of  knowledge.  Thus  the  pro- 
tracted opposition  in  France  to  the  Newtonian  theory  arose 
chiefly  from  the  influence  of  the  word  "attraction";  the 
contemptuous  misnomer,  "Gothic,"  applied  to  northern 
mediaeval  architecture,  perpetuated  the  dislike  with  which 
it  was  regarded;  and  the  introduction  of  the  term  "landed 
4 


74  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

proprietor  "  into  Bengal,  caused  a  disorganization  of  society 
which  had  never  been  caused  by  its  most  barbarous  in- 
vaders. 

Macaulay,  in  his  "  History  of  England,''  mentions  a  cir- 
cumstance strikingly  illustrative  of  the  connection  between 
language  and  opinion, —  that  no  large  society  of  which  the 
language  is  not  Teutonic  has  ever  turned  Protestant,  and 
that  wherever  a  language  derived  from  ancient  Rome  is 
spoken,  the  religion  of  modern  Rome  to  this  day  prevails. 
"  Men  believe,"  says  Bacon,  "  that  their  reason  is  lord  over 
their  words,  but  it  happens,  too,  that  words  exercise  a  recip- 
rocal and  reactionary  power  over  the  intellect.  .  .  Words, 
as  a  Tartar's  bow,  do  shoot  back  upon  the  understanding 
of  the  wisest,  and  mightily  entangle  and  pervert  the  judg- 
ment." Not  only  every  language,  but  every  age,  has  its 
charmed  words,  its  necromantic  terms,  which  give  to  the 
cunning  speaker  who  knows  how  to  ring  the  changes  upon 
them,  instant  access  to  the  hearts  of  men,  as  at  "  Open 
Sesame!"  the  doors  of  the  cave  flung  themselves  open  to 
the  thieves  in  the  Arabian  tale.  "  There  are  words,"  says 
Balzac,  "  which,  like  the  trumpets,  cymbals,  and  bass-drums 
of  mountebanks,  attract  the  public ;  the  words  '  beauty,' 
'  glory,'  '  poetry,'  have  witcheries  that  seduce  the  grossest 
minds."  At  the  utterance  of  the  magic  names  of  Auster- 
litz  and  Marengo,  thousands  have  rushed  to  a  forlorn  hope, 
and  met  death  at  the  cannon's  mouth. 

South,  in  his  eloquent  sermons  on  "  The  Fatal  Impos- 
ture and  Force  of  Words,"  observes  that  anyone  who 
wishes  to  manage  "  the  rabble,"  need  never  inquire,  so 
long  as  they  have  ears  to  hear,  whether  they  have  any 
understanding  whereby  to  judge.  With  two  or  three 
popular,  empty  words,  well-tuned  and  humored,  he  may 


THE   MORALITY    IN    WORDS.  75 

whistle  them  backward  and  forward,  upward  and  down- 
ward, till  he  is  weary;  and  get  upon  their  backs  when  he 
is  so.  When  Caesar's  army  mutinied,  no  argument  from 
interest  or  reason  could  persuade  them;  but  upon  his 
addressing  them  as  Quirites,  the  tumult  was  instantly 
hushed,  and  they  took  that  word  in  payment  of  all.  "  In 
the  thirtieth  chapter  of  Isaiah  we  find  some  arrived  at 
that  pitch  of  sottishness,  and  so  much  in  love  with  their 
own  ruin,  as  to  own  plainly  and  roundly  say  what  they 
would  be  at.  In  the  tenth  verse,  'Prophesy  not  unto 
us,'  say  they,  '  right  things,  but  prophesy  to  us  smooth 
things.'  As  if  they  had  said,  '  Do  but  oil  the  razor  for 
us,  and  let  us  alone  to  cut  our  own  throats.'  Such  an 
enchantment  is  there  in  words;  and  so  fine  a  thing  does 
it  seem  to  some  to  be  ruined  plausibly,  and  to  be  ushered 
to  destruction  with  panegyric  and  acclamation:  a  shame- 
ful, though  irrefragable  argument  of  the  absurd  empire 
and  usurpation  of  words  over  things ;  and  that  the  greatest 
affairs  and  most  important  interests  of  the  world  are  car- 
ried on  by  things,  not  as  they  are,  but  as  they  are  called." 
The  Romans,  after  the  expulsion  of  Tarquin,  could  not 
brook  the  idea  of  being  governed  by  a  king;  yet  they 
submitted  to  the  most  abject  slavery  under  an  emperor. 
Cromwell  was  too  sagacious  to  disgust  the  republicans  by 
calling  himself  King,  though  he  doubtless  laughed  grimly 
in  his  sleeve  as,  under  the  title  of  Lord  Protector,  he 
exercised  all  the  regal  functions.  We  are  told  by  Saint 
Simon  that  at  the  court  of  the  grand  monarch,  Louis 
XIV.,  gambling  was  so  common  that  even  the  ladies  took 
part  in  it.  The  gentlemen  did  not  scruple  to  cheat  at 
cards;  but  the  ladies  had  a  peculiar  tenderness  on  the 
subject.  No  lady  could  for  a  moment  think  of  retaining 


76  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

such  unrighteous  gains;  the  moment  they  were  touched, 
they  were  religiously  given  away.  But  then,  we  niusl 
add,  the  gift  was  always  made  to  some  other  winner  of 
her  own  sex.  By  carefully  avoiding  the  words  "  inter- 
change of  winnings,"  the  charming  casuists  avoided  all 
self-reproach,  and  all  sharp  censure  by  their  discreet  and 
lenient  confessors.  There  are  sects  of  Christians  at  the 
present  day  that  protest  vehemently  against  a  hired  min- 
istry; yet  their  preachers  must  be  warmed,  fed  and  clothed 
by  "  donation  parties," — like  the  snob-gentleman  in  Mo- 
liere,  whose  father  was  no  shop-keeper,  but  kindly  chose 
goods  for  his  friends,  which  he  let  them  have  for  —  money. 
Party  and  sectarian  leaders  know  that  the  great  secret 
of  the  art  of  swaying  the  people  is  to  invent  a  good  shib- 
boleth or  battle-cry,  to  be  dinned  continually  in  their  ears. 
Persons  familiar  with  British  history  will  remember  cer- 
tain talismanic  vocables,  such  as  "  Wilkes  and  Liberty," 
the  bare  utterance  of  which  has  been  sufficient  at  times 
to  set  a  whole  population  in  a  flame;  while  the  solemn 
and  sepulchral  cadences  in  which  Pitt  repeated  the  cuckoo 
song  of  "  thrones  and  altars,"  "  anarchy  and  dissolution  of 
social  order,"  were  more  potent  arguments  against  revo- 
lution than  the  most  perfect  syllogism  that  was  ever  con- 
structed in  mood  and  figure.  So  in  our  own  country 
this  verbal  magic  has  been  found  more  convincing  than 
arguments  in  "  Barbara  "  or  "  Baralipton."  Patriots  and 
demagogues  alike  have  found  that  it  was  only  necessary. 
in  South's  phrase,  to  take  any  passion  of  the  people,  when 
it  was  predominant  and  just  at  the  critical  height  of  it, 
"  and  nick  it  with  some  lucky  or  unlucky  word,"  and  they 
might  "  as  certainly  overrule  it  to  their  own  purpose  as 
a  spark  of  fire,  falling  upon  gunpowder,  will  infallibly 


THE    MORALITY   IN   WORDS.  77 

blow  it  up."  "  Free  Trade  and  Sailors'  Rights,"  "  No 
More  Compromise,"  "  The  Higher  Law,"  "  The  Irrepres- 
sible Conflict,"  "  Squatter  Sovereignty,"  and  other  similar 
phrases,  have  roused  and  moved  the  public  mind  as  much 
as  the  pulpit  and  the  press. 

Gouyerneur  Morris,  in  his  Parisian  journal  of  1789, 
tells  an  anecdote  which  strikingly  illustrates  this  influence 
of  catch-words  upon  the  popular  mind.  A  gentleman,  in 
walking,  came  near  to  a  knot  of  people  whom  a  street  ora- 
tor was  haranguing  on  the  power  of  a  qualified  veto  (veto 
suspensif)  which  the  constituent  assembly  had  just  granted 
to  the  king.  "  Messieurs,"  said  the  orator,  "  we  have  not  a 
supply  of  bread.  Let  me  tell  you  the  reason.  It  has  been 
but  three  days  since  the  king  obtained  this  qualified  veto, 
and  during  that  time  the  aristocrats  have  bought  up  some 
of  these  suspensions,  and  carried  the  grain  out  of  the  king- 
dom." To  this  profound  discourse  the  people  assented  by 
loud  cheers.  Not  only  shibboleths,  but  epithets,  are  often 
more  convincing  than  syllogisms.  The  term  Utopian  or 
Quixotic,  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  people  with  any 
measure,  even  the  wisest  and  most  practicable,  is  as  fatal  to 
it  as  what  some  one  calls  the  poisonous  sting  of  the  Ameri- 
can humbug. 

So  in  theology;  false  doctrines  and  true  doctrines  have 
owed  their  currency  or  non-currency,  in  a  great  measure, 
to  the  coinage  of  happy  terms,  by  which  they  have  been 
summed  up  and  made  attractive  or  offensive.  Trench 
observes  that  "  the  entire  secret  of  Buddhism  is  in  the  'Nir- 
vana.' Take  away  the  word,  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  the  keystone  to  the  whole  arch  is  gone."  When  the 
Roman  Catholic  church  coined  the  term  "  transubstantia- 
tion,"  the  error  which  had  so  long  been  held  in  solution 


78  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

was  precipitated,  and  became  henceforth  a  fixed  and  influ- 
ential dogma.  What  a  potent  watchword  was  the  term 
"Reformation,"  in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries! 
Who  can  estimate  the  influence  of  the  phrases  "  Broad 
Church,"  "  Liberal  Church,"  "  Close  Communion,"  in  ad- 
vancing or  retarding  the  growth  of  certain  religious  sects 
at  this  day?  Even  the  most  "  advanced  thinkers,"  who 
reject  the  supernatural  element  of  the  Bible,  put  all  reli- 
gions upon  the  same  level,  and  deem  Shakspeare  as  truly 
inspired  as  the  Apostles,  style  themselves  "  Christians." 

Even  in  science  happy  names  have  had  much  to  do  with 
the  general  reception  of  truth.  "  Hardly  any  original 
thoughts  on  mental  or  social  subjects,"  says  a  writer,  "  ever 
make  their  way  among  mankind,  or  assume  their  proper 
proportions  even  in  the  minds  of  their  inventors,  until 
aptly  selected  words  or  phrases  have,  as  it  were,  nailed 
them  down  and  held  them  fast."  How  much  is  the  study 
of  the  beautiful  science  of  botany  hindered  by  such  "  lexi- 
cal superfetations "  as  "chrysanthemum  leukanthemum," 
"  Myosotis  scorpioeides  "  (scorpion-shaped  mouse's  ear);  and 
how  much  is  that  of  astronomy  promoted  by  such  popular 
terms  as  "the  bear,"  "the  serpent,"  "the  milky  way"! 
How  much  knowledge  is  gathered  up  in  the  compact  and 
easily  remembered  phrase,  "correlation  of  forces";  and  to 
what  an  extent  the  wide  diffusion  of  Darwin's  speculations 
is  owing  to  two  or  three  felicitous  and  comprehensive 
terms,  such  as  "  the  struggle  for  existence,"  "  survival  of 
the  fittest,"  "  the  process  of  natural  selection"!  Who  that 
has  felt  the  painfulness  of  doubt  has  not  desired  to  know 
something  of  "the  positive  philosophy"  of  Comte?  On  the 
other  hand,  the  well-known  anatomist,  Professor  Owen, 
complains  with  just  reason  of  the  embarrassments  produced 


THE   MORALITY    IN   WORDS.  79 

in  his  science  by  having  to  use  a  long  description  instead  of 
a  name.  Thus  a  particular  bone  is  called  by  Soemmering 
"  pars  occipitalis  stricte  sic  dicta  partis  occipitalis  ossis 
spheno-occipitalis,"  a  description  so  clumsy  that  only  the 
direst  necessity  would  lead  one  to  use  it. 

Even  great  authors,  who  are  supposed  to  have  "  sov- 
ereign sway  and  masterdom "  over  words,  are  often  be- 
witched and  led  captive  by  them.  Thus  Southey,  Cole- 
ridge and  Wordsworth  were  bent  on  establishing  their 
Pantesocracy  on  the  banks  of  the  Susquehanna,  not  because 
they  knew  anything  of  that  locality,  but  because  Sus- 
quehanna was  "  such  a  pretty  name."  Again,  to  point  an 
epigram  or  give  edge  to  a  sarcasm,  a  writer  will  stab  a 
rising  reputation  as  with  a  poniard;  and  even  when  con- 
victed of  misrepresentation,  will  sooner  stick  to  the  lie 
than  part  with  a  jeu  <£ esprit,  or  forego  a  verbal  felicity. 
Thus  Byron,  alluding  to  Keats's  death,  which  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  caused  by  Giftbrd's  savage  criticism 
in  the  "Quarterly,"  said: 

"  Strange  that  the  soul,  that  very  fiery  particle, 
Should  let  Itself  be  snufied  out  by  an  article! " 

Though  he  was  afterwards  informed  of  the  untruth  of 
these  lines,  Byron,  plethoric  as  he  was  with  poetic  wealth 
and  wit,  could  not  willingly  let  them  die  ;  and  so  the 
witticism  yet  remains  to  mislead  and  provoke  the  laugh- 
ter of  his  readers. 

Again:  there  are  authors  who,  to  meet  the  necessities 
of  rhyme,  or  to  give  music  to  a  period,  will  pad  out  their 
sentences  with  meaningless  expletives.  They  employ  words 
as  carpenters  put  false  windows  into  houses  ;  not  to  let 
in  light  upon  their  meaning,  but  for  symmetry.  Or,  per' 
haps,  they  imagine  that  a  certain  degree  of  distension  of 


80  WOKDS;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

the  intellectual  stomach  is  required  to  enable  it  to  act 
with  its  full  powers, — just  as  some  of  the  Russian  peas- 
antry mix  sawdust  with  the  train-oil  they  drink,  or  as 
hay  and  straw  are  given  to  horses,  as  well  as  corn,  to 
supply  the  necessary  bulk.  Thus  Dr.  Johnson,  imitating 
Juvenal,  says: 

"  Let  observation,  with  extensive  view, 
Survey  mankind  from  China  to  Peru." 

This,  a  lynx-eyed  critic  contended,  was  equivalent  to 
saying:  "Let  observation,  with  extensive  observation,  ob- 
serve mankind  extensively."  If  the  Spartans,  as  we  are 
told,  fined  a  citizen  because  he  used  three  words  where 
two  would  have  done  as  well,  how  would  they  have  pun- 
ished such  prodigality  of  language? 

It -is  an  impressive  truth  which  has  often  been  noticed 
by  moralists  that  indulgence  in  verbal  vice  speedily  leads 
to  corresponding  vices  in  conduct.  If  a  man  talk  of 
any  mean,  sensual,  or  criminal  practice  in  a  familiar  or 
flippant  tone,  the  delicacy  of  his  moral  sense  is  almost 
sure  to  be  lessened,  he  loses  his  horror  of  the  vice,  and, 
when  tempted  to  do  the  deed,  he  is  far  more  likely  to 
yield.  Many  a  man,  without  dreaming  of  such  a  result, 
has  thus  talked  himself  into  vice,  into  sensuality,  and  even 
into  ruin.  "  Bad  language,"  says  an  able  divine,  "  easily 
runs  into  bad  deeds.  Select  any  iniquity  you  please;  suffer 
yourself  to  converse  in  its  dialect,  to  use  its  slang,  to  speak 
in  the  character  of  one  who  approves  or  relishes  it,  and 
I  need  not  tell  you  how  soon  your  moral  sense  may  lower 
down  its  level."  The  apostle  James  was  so  impressed  with 
the  significance  of  speech  that  he  regarded  it  as  an  un- 
•  erring  sign  of  character.  "If  any  man  offend  not  in 
word,"  he  declares,  "  the  same  is  a  perfect  man,  and  able 


THE   MORALITY    IN   WORDS.  81 

also  to  bridle  the  whole  body."  Again  he  declares  that 
"the  tongue  is  an  unruly  evil,  full  of  deadly  poison"; 
commenting  upon  which,  Rev.  F.  W.  Robertson  observes: 
"  The  deadliest  poisons  are  those  for  which  no  test  is 
known;  there  are  poisons  so  destructive  that  a  single 
drop  insinuated  into  the  veins  produces  death  in  three 
seconds.  .  .  In  that  drop  of  venom  which  distils  from  the 
sting  of  the  smallest  insect  or  the  spikes  of  the  nettle- 
leaf,  there  is  concentrated  the  quintessence  of  a  poison  so 
subtle  that  the  microscope  cannot  distinguish  it,  and  yet 
so  virulent  that  it  can  inflame  the  blood,  irritate  the  whole 
constitution,  and  convert  night  and  day  into  restless  mis- 
ery." So,  he  adds,  there  are  words  of  calumny  and  slan- 
der, apparently  insignificant,  yet  so  venomous  and  deadly 
that  they  not  only  inflame  hearts  and  fever  human  exist- 
ence, but  poison  human  society  at  the  very  fountain  springs 
of  life.  It  was  said  with  the  deepest  feeling  of  the  utter- 
ers  of  such  words,  by  one  who  had  smarted  under  their 
sting:  "Adders'  poison  is  under  their  lips." 

Who  can  estimate  the  amount  of  misery  which  has  been 
produced  in  society  by  merely  idle  words,  uttered  without 
malice,  and  by  words  uttered  in  jest?  A  poet,  whose  name 
is  unknown  to  us,  has  vividly  painted  the  effects  of  such 
utterances : 

"A  frivolous  word,  a  sharp  retort, 

A  flash  from  a  passing  cloud, 
Two  hearts  are  scathed  to  their  inmost  core, 
Are  ashes  and  dnst  forevermore; 

Two  faces  turn  to  the  crowd, 
Masked  by  pride  with  a  lifelong  lie, 
To  hide  the  scars  of  that  agony. 

"A  frivolous  word,  a  sharp  retort, 

An  arrow  at  random  sped; 
It  has  cut  in  twain  the  mystic  tie 
4* 


82  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

That  had  bound  two  souls  in  harmony, 

Sweet  love  lies  bleeding  or  dead. 
A  poisoned  shaft  with  scarce  an  aim, 
Has  done  a  mischief  sad  as  shame." 

It  was  one  of  the  virtues  of  George  Washington  that  he 
knew  how  to  be  silent.  John  Adams  said  he  had  the  most 
remarkable  mouth  he  had  ever  seen;  for  he  had  the  art  of 
controlling  his  lips.  One  of  the  rules  of  conduct  to  which 
David  Hume  inflexibly  adhered,  was  never  to  reply  to  any 
attack  made  upon  him  or  his  writings.  It  was  creditable 
to  him  that  he  had  no  anxiety  to  have  "  the  last  word,"- 
that  which  in  family  circles  has  been  pronounced  to  be 
"  the  most  dangerous  of  infernal  machines." 

It  is  not,  however,  in  the  realm  of  literature  and  morals 
only  that  the  power  of  words  is  seen.  Who  is  ignorant  of 
their  sway  in  the  world  of  politics?  Is  not  fluency  of 
speech,  in  many  communities,  more  than  statesmanship? 
Are  not  brains,  with  a  little  tongue,  often  far  less  potent 
than  "tongue  with  a  garnish  of  brains"?  Need  any  one 
be  told  that  a  talent  for  speech-making  has  stood  in  place 
of  all  other  acquirements;  that  it  is  this  which  has  made 
judges  without  law,  and  diplomatists  without  French;  which 
has  sent  to  the  army  brigadiers  who  knew  not  a  cannon 
from  a  mortar,  and  to  the  legislature  men  who  could  not 
tell  a  bank-note  from  a  bill  of  exchange;  which,  according 
to  Macaulay,  made  a  Foreign  Minister  of  Mr.  Pitt,  who 
never  opened  Vattel,  and  which  was  near  making  a  Chan- 
cellor of  the  Exchequer  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  who  could  not 
work  a  sum  in  long  division?  "  To  be  a  man  of  the  world," 
says  Corporal  Bunting,  a  character  in  one  of  Bulwer's 
novels,  "  you  must  know  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  speechify- 
ing. It's  words  that  make  another  man's  mare  go  your 
road.  Augh !  that  must  have  been  a  clever  man  as  invented 


THE    MORALITY   IN    WORDS.  83 

language.  It  is  a  marvel  to  think  how  much  a  man  does 
in  the  way  of  cheating,  if  he  only  has  the  gift  of  the  gab; 
wants  a  missus, —  talks  her  over ;  wants  your  horse, —  talks 
you  out  of  it;  wants  a  place, —  talks  himself  into  it.  .  . 
Words  make  even  them  'ere  authors,  poor  creatures,  in 
every  man's  mouth.  Augh !  sir,  take  note  of  the  words, 
and  the  things  will  take  care  of  themselves." 

It  is  true  that  "  lying  words  "  are  not  always  responsible 
for  the  mischief  they  do;  that  they  often  rebel  and  growl 
audibly  against  the  service  into  which  they  are  pressed,  and 
testify  against  their  task- masters.  The  latent  nature  of  a 
man  struggles  often  through  his  own  words,  so  that  even 
truth  itself  comes  blasted  from  his  lips,  and  vulgarity, 
malignity,  and  littleness  of  soul,  however  anxiously  cloaked, 
are  betrayed  by  the  very  phrases  and  images  of  their  oppo- 
sites.  "  A  satanic  drop  in  the  blood,"  it  has  been  said, 
"  makes  a  clergyman  preach  diabolism  from  scriptural  texts, 
and  a  philanthropist  thunder  hate  from  the  rostrum  of 
reform."  *  But  though  the  truth  often  leaks  out  through 
the  most  hypocritical  words,  it  is  yet  true  that  they  are 
successfully  employed,  as  decoy-ducks,  to  deceive,  and  the 
dupes  who  are  cheated  by  them  are  legion.  There  are  men 
fond  of  abstractions,  whom  words  seem  to  enter  and  take 
possession  of,  as  their  lords  and  owners.  Blind  to  every 
shape  but  a  shadow,  deaf  to  every  sound  but  an  echo,  they 
invert  the  legitimate  order,  and  regard  things  as  the  sym- 
bols of  words,  not  words  as  the  symbols  of  things.  There 
is,  in  short,  "a  besotting  intoxication  which  this  verbal 
magic,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  brings  upon  the  mind  of  man.  .  . 
Words  are  able  to  persuade  men  out  of  what  they  find  and 
feel,  to  reverse  the  very  impressions  of  sense,  and  to  amuse 

*  "  Literature  and  Life,"  by  Edwin  P.  Whipple. 


84  WORDS  ;    THEIR    USE   AND   ABUSE. 

men  with  fancies  and  paradoxes,  even  in  spite  of  nature  and 
experience."  * 

All  who  are  familiar  with  Dickens  will  recollect  the  reply 
of  the  shrewd  Samuel  Weller,  when  asked  the  meaning  of 
the  word  monomania:  "  When  a  poor  fellow  takes  a  piece 
of  goods  from  a  shop,  it  is  called  theft;  but  if  a  wealthy 
lady  does  the  same  thing,  it  is  called  monomania."  There 
is  biting  satire  as  well  as  naivete  and  dry  humor  in  the 
reply,  and  it  strikingly  shows  the  moral  power  of  language; 
how  the  same  act  may  be  made  to  appear  in  wholly  different 
lights,  according  to  the  phraseology  used  to  describe  it.  The 
same  character  may  be  made  to  look  as  spotless  as  an  angel, 
or  as  black  as  "  the  sooty  spirits  that  troop  under  Acheron's 
flag,"  through  the  lubricity  of  language.  "  Timidus,  says 
Seneca,  "  se  cautum  vocat;  sordidus,  parcum"  Thousands 
who  would  shrink  back  with  disgust  or  horror  from  a  vice 
which  has  an  ugly  name,  are  led  "  first  to  endure,  then  pity, 
then  embrace,"  when  men  have  thrown  over  it  the  mantle 
of  an  honorable  appellation.  A  singular  but  most  in- 
structive dictionary  might  be  compiled  by  taking  one  after 
another  the  honorable  and  the  sacred  words  of  a  language, 
and  showing  for  what  infamies,  basenesses,  crimes,  or  follies, 
each  has  been  made  a  pretext.  Is  there  no  meaning  in  the 
fact  that,  among  the  ancient  Romans,  the  same  word  was 
employed  to  designate  a  crime  and  a  great  action,  and  that 
a  softened  expression  for  "a  thief"  was  " a  man  of  three 
letters"  (f.  u.  r.)?  Does  it  make  no  difference  in  our  esti- 
mate of  the  gambler  and  his  profession,  whether  we  call 
him  by  the  plain,  unvarnished  Saxon  "  blackleg,"  or  by  the 
French  epithet,  "industrious  chevalier"?  Can  any  one 
doubt  that  in  Italy,  when  poisoning  was  rifest,  the  crime 

*8outh'8  Sermons. 


THE   MORALITY   IX    WORDS.  85 

was  fearfully  increased  by  the  fact  that,  in  place  of  this 
term,  not  to  be  breathed  in  ears  polite,  the  death  of  some- 
one was  said  to  be  "  assisted"?  Or  can  any  one  doubt  the 
moral  effect  of  a  similar  perversion  of  words  in  France, 
when  a  subtle  poison,  by  which  impatient  heirs  delivered 
themselves  from  persons  who  stood  between  them  and  the 
inheritance  they  coveted,  was  called  "succession  powder"? 

Juvenal  indignantly  denounces  the  polished  Romans  for 
relieving  the  consciences  of  rich  criminals  by  softening  the 
names  of  their  crimes;  and  Thucydides,  in  a  well-known 
passage  of  his  history,  tells  how  the  morals  of  the  Greeks 
of  his  day  were  sapped,  and  how  they  concealed  the  na- 
tional deterioration,  by  perversions  of  the  customary  mean- 
ings of  words.  Unreasoning  rashness,  he  says,  passed  as 
"  manliness "  and  "  esprit  de  corps,"  and  prudent  caution 
for  specious  cowardice;  sobermindedness  was  a  mere  "cloak 
for  effeminacy,"  and  general  prudence  was  "  inefficient 
inertness."  The  Athenians,  at  one  time,  were  adepts  in 
the  art  of  coining  agreeable  names  for  disagreeable  things. 
"Taxes"  they  called  "subscriptions"  or  "contributions"; 
the  prison  was  "the  house";  the  executioner  a  "public 
servant";  and  a  general  abolition  of  debt  was  "a  disbur- 
dening ordinance."  Devices  like  these  are  common  to  all 
countries;  and  in  our  own,  especially,  one  is'  startled  to 
see  what  an  amount  of  ingenuity  has  been  expended  in 
perfecting  this  "  devil's  vocabulary,"  and  how  successful 
the  press  has  been  in  its  efforts  to  transmute  acts  of 
wickedness  into  mere  peccadilloes,  and  to  empty  words 
employed  in  the  condemnation  of  evil,  of  the  depth  and 
earnestness  of  the  moral  reprobation  they  convey. 

Some  time  ago  a  Wisconsin  clergyman,  being  detected 
in  stealing  books  from  a  bookstore,  confessed  the  truth, 


86  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

and  added  that  he  left  his  former  home  in  New  Jersey 
under  disgrace  for  a  similar  theft.  This  fact  a  New  York 
paper  noted  under  the  head  of  "A  Peculiar  Misfortune.'' 
About  the  same  time  a  clerk  in  Richmond.  Va.,  being 
sent  to  deposit  several  hundreds  of  dollars  in  a  bank,  ran 
away  with  the  money  to  the  North.  Having  been  pursued, 
overtaken,  and  compelled  to  return  the  money,  he  was 
spoken  of  by  "  the  chivalry  "  as  the  young  man  "  who  had 
lately  met  with  an  accident."  Is  it  not  an  alarming  sign 
of  the  times,  when,  in  the  Legislature  of  one  of  our  largest 
Eastern  States,  a  member  declares  that  he  has  been  asked 
by  another  member  for  his  vote,  and  told  that  he  would 
get  "five  hundred  reasons  for  giving  it";  thus  making  the 
highest  word  in  our  language,  that  which  signifies  divinely- 
given  power  of  discrimination  and  choice,  the  synonyme 
of  bribery? 

Perhaps  no  honorable  term  in  the  language  has  been 
more  debased  than  "  gentleman."  Originally  the  word 
meant  a  man  born  of  a  noble  family,  or  gens,  as  the  Romans 
called  it;  but  as  such  persons  were  usually  possessed  of 
wealth  and  leisure,  they  were  generally  distinguished  by 
greater  refinement  of  manners  than  the  working  clash's, 
and  a  more  tasteful  dress.  As  in  the  course  of  ages  their 
riches  and  legal  privileges  diminished,  and  the  gulf  which 
separated  them  from  the  citizens  of  the  trading  towns  was 
bridged  by  the  increasing  wealth  and  power  of  the  latter, 
the  term  "  gentleman "  came  at  last  to  denote  indiscrim- 
inately all  persons  who  kept  up  the  state  and  observed  the 
social  forms  which  had  once  characterized  men  of  rank. 
To-day  the  term  has  sunk  so  low  that  the  acutest  lexicog- 
rapher would  be  puzzled  to  tell  its  meaning.  Not  only 
does  every  person  of  decent  exterior  and  deportment  as- 


THE    MORALITY    IN    WORDS.  87 

sume  to  be  a  gentleman,  but  the  term  is  applied  to  the 
vilest  criminals  and  the  most  contemptible  miscreants,  as 
well  as  to  the  poorest  and  most  illiterate  persons  in  the 
community. 

In  aristocratic  England  the  artificial  distinctions  of  so- 
ciety have  so  far  disappeared  that  even  the  porter  who 
lounges  hi  his  big  chair,  and  condescends  to  show  you  out, 
is  "  the  gentleman  in  the  hall " ;  Jeames  is  the  "  gentleman 
in  uniform " ;  while  the  valet  is  the  "  gentleman's  gentle- 
man.'' Even  a  half  a  century  ago,  George  IV.,  who  was 
so  ignorant  that  he  could  hardly  spell,  and  who  in  heart 
and  soul  was  a  thorough  snob,  was  pronounced,  upon  the 
ground  of  his  grand  and  suave  manners,  "  the  first  gentle- 
man of  Europe."  But  in  the  United  States  the  term  has 
been  so  emptied  of  its  original  meaning, —  especially  in 
some  of  the  Southern  States,  where  society  has  hardly 
emerged  from  a  feudal  state,  and  where  men  who  shoot 
each  other  in  a  street  fray  still  babble  of  being  "  born  gen- 
tlemen," and  of  "  dying  like  gentlemen," —  that  most  per- 
sons will  think  it  is  quite  time  for  the  abolition  of  "  that 
heartless  conventionality,  that  absurd  humbug  and  barba- 
rian, the  gentleman."  Cowper  declared,  a  hundred  years 
ago,  in  regard  to  duelling: 

"A  gentleman 
Will  not  insult  me,  and  no  other  can." 

A  Southern  newspaper  stated  some  years  ago  that  a  u  gen- 
tleman" was  praising  the  town  of  Woodville,  Mississippi, 
and  remarked  that  "  it  was  the  most  quiet,  peaceable  place 
he  ever  saw;  there  was  no  quarrelling  or  rowdyism,  no 
fighting  about  the  streets.  If  a  gentleman  insulted  an- 
other, he  was  quietly  shot  down,  and  there  was  the  last  of 
it."  The  gentle  Isaiah  Rynders,  who  acted  as  Marshal  at 


88  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

the  time  the  pirate  Hicks  was  executed  in  New  York, 
had  doubtless  similar  notions  of  gentility;  for,  after  con- 
versing a  moment  with  the  culprit,  he  said  to  the  by- 
standers: "  I  asked  the  gentleman  if  he  desired  to  address 
the  audience,  but  he  declined."  In  a  similar  spirit  Booth, 
the  assassin,  when  he  was  surrounded  in  the  barn,  where 
he  was  shot  like  a  beast,  offered  to  pledge  his  word  "  as  a 
gentleman"  to  come  out  and  try  to  shoot  one  or  two  of  his 
captors.  The  Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar  states  that  when  he 
visited  the  United  States  about  fifty  years  ago,  he  was 
asked  by  a  hackman:  "Are  you  the  man  that's  going  to 
ride  with  me;  for  I  am  the  gentleman  that's  to  drive?" 

When  a  young  man  becomes  a  reckless  spendthrift, 
how  easy  it  is  to  gloss  over  his  folly  by  talking  of  his 
"  generosity,"  his  "  big-heartedness,"  and  "  contempt  for 
trifles";  or,  if  he  runs  into  the  opposite  vice  of  miserly 
niggardliness,  how  convenient  to  dignify  it  by  the  terms 
"  economy  "  and  "  wise  forecast  of  the  future  " !  A  man 
with  a  good  income  becomes  extravagant  in  his  expendi- 
tures, and  contracts  hundreds  of  debts,  which  he  fails  tn 
liquidate,  for  fine  furniture  and  clothes,  fast  horses  and 
champagne  suppers;  or,  perhaps,  he  deliberately  fails  in 
business,  and  swindles  his  victims  out  of  fifty  or  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars:  who,  even  of  the  sufferers,  can  be 
so  cruel  as  to  pronounce  him  a  "  scoundrel,"  when  he 
was  manifestly  only  "  a  little  fast,"  or  there  was  merely 
"a  confusion  in  his  affairs"? 

Many  a  man  has  blown  out  another's  brains  in  "an 
affair  of  honor,"  who,  if  accused  of  murder,  would  have 
started  back  with  horror.  Many  a  person  stakes  his  all 
on  a  public  stock,  or  sells  wheat  or  corn  which  he  dot's 
not  possess,  in  the  expectation  of  a  speedy  fall,  who  would 


THE    MORALITY   IX   WORDS.  89 

be  thunderstruck  if  told  that,  while  considering  himself 
only  a  shrewd  speculator,  he  was,  in  everything  save 
decency  of  appearance,  on  a  par  with  the  haunter  of  a 
"  hell,"  and  as  much  a  gambler  as  if  he  were  staking  his 
money  on  "  rouge-et-noir "  or  "  roulette/'  Hundreds  of 
officials  have  been  tempted  to  defraud  the  government 
by  the  fact  that  the  harshest  term  applied  to  the  offense 
is  the  rose-water  one,  "  defaulting  " ;  and  men  have  plotted 
without  compunction  the  downfall  of  the  government,  and 
plundered  its  treasury,  as  "  secessionists,"  who  would  have 
expected  to  dangle  at  the  rope's  end,  or  to  be  shot  down 
like  dogs,  had  they  regarded  themselves  as  rebels  or  trai- 
tors. So  Pistol  objected  to  the  odious  word  steal  — "  con- 
vey, the  wise  it  call."  There  are  multitudes  of  persons 
who  can  sit  for  hours  at  a  festive  table,  gorging  them- 
selves, Gargantua-like,  "  with  links  and  chitterlings,"  and 
guzzling  whole  bottles  of  champagne,  under  the  impres- 
sion that  they  are  "jolly  fellows,"  "true  epicureans,"  and 
"  connoisseurs  in  good  living,"  whose  cheeks  would  tingle 
with  indignation  and  shame  if  they  were  accused,  in 
point-blank  terms,  of  vices  so  disgusting  as  intemperance 
or  gluttony.  "  I  *am  not  a  slut,"  boasts  Audrey,  in  "As 
You  Like  It,"  "  though  I  thank  the  gods  I  am  foul." 

Of  all  classes  of  men  whose  callings  tempt  them  to 
juggle  with  words,  none  better  than  auctioneers  under- 
stand how  much  significance  lies  in  certain  shades  of 
expression.  It  is  told  of  Eobins,  the  famous  London 
auctioneer,  who  in  selling  his  wares  revelled  in  an '  ori- 
ental luxury  of  expression,  that  in  puffing  an  estate  he 
described  a  certain  ancient  gallows  as  "  a  hanging  wood." 
At  another  time,  having  made  the  beauties  of  the  earthly 
paradise  which  he  was  commissioned  to  sell  too  gorgeously 


90  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

enchanting,  and  finding  it  necessary  to  blur  it  by  a  fault 
or  two,  lest  it  should  prove  "  too  good  for  human  nature's 
daily  food,  the  Hafiz  of  the  mart  paused  a  moment,  and 
reluctantly  added:  "But  candor  compels  me  to  add,  gen- 
tlemen, that  there  are  two  drawbacks  to  this  splendid 
property, —  the  litter  of  the  rose-leaves  and  the  noise  of  I  he 
nightingales.'1'1 

It  is  hardly  possible  to  estimate  the  mischief  which  is 
done  to  society  by  the  debasement  of  its  language  in  the 
various  ways  we  have  indicated.  When  the  only  words 
we  have  by  which  to  designate  the  personifications  of 
nobleness,  manliness,  courtesy  and  truth  are  systemat- 
ically applied  to  all  that  is  contemptible  and  vile,  who 
can  doubt  that  these  high  qualities  themselves  will  ulti- 
mately share  in  the  debasement  to  which  their  proper 
names  are  subjected?  Who  does  not  see  how  vast  a  dif- 
ference it  must  make  in  our  estimate  of  any  species  of 
wickedness,  whether  we  are  wont  to  designate  it,  arid  to 
hear  it  designated,  by  some  word  which  brings  out  its 
hatefulness,  or  by  one  which  palliates  and  glosses  over  ils 
foulness  and  deformity?  How  much  better  to  character- 
ize an  ugly  thing  by  an  ugly  word,  tha/t  expresses  moral 
condemnation  and  disgust,  even  at  the  expense  of  some 
coarseness,  than  to  call  evil  good  and  good  evil,  to  put 
darkness  for  light,  and  light  for  darkness,  by  the  use  of 
a  term  that  throws  a  veil  of  sentiment  over  a  sin?  In 
reading  the  literature  of  former  days,  we  are  shocked 
occasionally  by  the  bluntness  and  plain-speaking  of  our 
fathers;  but  even  their  coarsest  terms, —  the  "naked  words, 
stript  from  their  shirts," — in  which  they  denounced  liber- 
tinism, were  far  less  hurtful  than  the  ceremonious  delicacy 
which  has  taught  men  to  abuse  each  other  with  the  ut- 


THE    MORALITY   IN   WORDS.  91 

most  politeness,  to  hide  the  loathsomeness  of  vice,  and  to 
express  the  most  indecent  ideas  in  the  most  modest  terms. 

It  has  been  justly  said  that  the  corrupter  of  a  language 
stabs  straight  at  the  very  heart  of  his  country.  He  com- 
mits a  crime  against  every  individual  of  a  nation,-  for  he 
poisons  a  stream  from  which  all  must  drink;  and  the 
poison  is  more  subtle  and  more  dangerous,  because  more 
likely  to  escape  detection,  than  the  deadliest  venom  with 
which  the  destructive  philosophy  of  our  day  is  assailing 
the  moral  or  the  religious  interests  of  humanity.  "  Let 
the  words  of  a  country,"  sa}7s  Milton  in  a  letter  to  an 
Italian  scholar,  "be  in  part  unhandsome  and  offensive  in 
themselves,  in  part  debased  by  wear  and  wrongly  uttered, 
and  what  do  they  declare  but,  by  no  light  indication,  that 
the  inhabitants  of  that  country  are  an  indolent,  idly- 
yawning  race,  with  minds  already  long  prepared  for  any 
amount  of  servility?" 

Sometimes  the  spirit  which  governs  employers  or  em- 
ployed, and  other  classes  of  men,  in  their  mutual  relations, 
is  indicated  by  the  names  they  give  each  other.  Some 
years  ago  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts  made  a  law 
requiring  that  children  of  a  certain,  age  employed  in  the 
factories  of  that  State,  should  be  sent  to  school  a  certain 
number  of  weeks  in  the  year.  While  visiting  the  factories 
to  ascertain  whether  this  wise  provision  of  the  State  gov- 
ernment was  complied  with,  an  officer  of  the  State  inquired 
of  the  agent  of  one  of  the  principal  factories  at  New 
Bedford,  whether  it  was  the  custom  to  do  anything  for 
the  physical,  intellectual,  or  moral  welfare  of  the  work- 
people. The  answer  would  not  have  b.een  out  of  place  in 
the  master  of  a  plantation,  or  the  captain  of  a  coolie  ship : 
"  We  never  do ;  as  for  myself,  I  regard  my  work-people 


92  WORDS;  THEIB  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

as  I  regard  my  machinery.  ,  .  They  must  look  out  for 
themselves,  as  I  do  for  myself.  When  my  machinery  gets 
old  and  useless,  I  reject  it  and  get  new;  and  these  people 
are  a  part  of  my  machinery.''  Another  agent  in  another 
part  of 'the  State  replied  to  a  similar  question:  ''That  he 
used  his  mill-hands  as  he  used  his  horse-  as  long  as  he  was 
in  good  condition  and  rendered  good  service,  he  treated 
him  well;  otherwise  he  got  rid  of  him  as  soon  as  he  could, 
and  what  became  of  him  afterward  was  no  affair  of  his." 

But  we  need  not  multiply  illustrations  to  show  the 
moral  power  of  words.  As  the  eloquent  James  Martineau 
says:  "  Power  they  certainly  have.  They  are  alive  with 
sweetness,  with  terror,  with  pity.  They  have  eyes  to  look 
at  you  with  strangeness  or  with  response.  They  are  even 
creative,  and  can  wrap  a  world  in  darkness  for  us,  or  flood 
it  with  light.  But  in  all  this,  they  are  not  signs  of  the 
weakness  of  humanity;  they  are  the  very  crown  and  blos- 
som of  its  supreme  strength;  and  the  poet  whom  this  faith 
possesses  will,  to  the  end  of  time,  be  master  of  the  critic 
whom  it  deserts.  The  whole  inner  life  of  men  moulds  the 
forms  of  language,  and  is  moulded  by  them  in  turn;  and 
as  surely  pines  when  they  are  rudely  treated  as  the  plant 
whose  vessels  you  bruise  or  try  to  replace  with  artificial 
tubes.  The  grouping  of  thought,  the  musical  scale  of 
feeling,  the  shading  and  harmonies  of  color  in  the  spec- 
trum of  imagination,  have  all  been  building,  as  it  were, 
the  molecules  of  speech  into  their  service;  and  if  you  heed- 
lessly alter  its  dispositions,  pulverize  its  crystals,  fix  its 
elastic  media,  and  turn  its  transparent  into  opaque,  you 
not  only  disturb  expression,  you  dislodge  the  very  things 
to  be  expressed.  And  in  proportion  as  the  idea  or  senti- 
ment thus  turned  adrift  is  less  of  a  mere  personal  char- 


THE   MORALITY   IN   WORDS.  93 

acteristic,  and  has  been  gathering  and  shaping  its  elements 
from  ages  of  various  aft'ection  and  experience,  does  it  be- 
come less  possible  to  replace  it  by  any  equivalents,  or 
dispense  with  its  function  by  any  act  of  will." 

To  conclude:  there  is  one  startling  fact  connected  with 
words,  which  should  make  all  men  ponder  what  they  utter. 
Not  only  is  every  wise  and  every  idle  word  recorded  in  the 
book  of  divine  remembrance,  but  modern  science  has  shown 
that  they  produce  an  abiding  impression  on  the  globe  we 
inhabit.  The  pulsations  of  the  air,  once  set  in  motion, 
never  cease;  its  waves,  raised  by  each  sound,  travel  the 
entire  round  of  earth's  and  ocean's  surface;  and,  in  less 
than  twenty-four  hours,  every  atom  of  atmosphere  takes  up 
the  altered  movement  resulting  from  that  sound.  The  air 
itself  is  one  vast  library,  on  whose  pages  are  written  in 
imperishable  characters  all  that  man  has  spoken,  or  even 
whispered.  Not  a  word  that  goes  from  the  lips  into  the 
air  can  ever  die,  until  the  atmosphere  which  wraps  our 
huge  globe  in  its  embrace  has  passed  away  forever,  and  the 
heavens  are  no  more.  There,  till  the  heavens  are  rolled 
together  as  a  scroll,  will  still  live  the  jests  of  the  profane, 
the  curses  of  the  ungodly,  the  scoffs  of  the  atheist,  "  keeping 
company  with  the  hours,"  and  circling  the  earth  with  the 
song  of  Miriam,  the  wailing  of  Jeremiah,  the  low  prayer  of 
Stephen,  the  thunders  of  Demosthenes,  and  the  denuncia- 
tions of  Burke. 

"  Words  are  mighty,  words  are  living; 

Serpents,  with  their  venomous  stings, 
Or,  bright  angels,  crowding  round  us 

With  heaven's  light  upon  their  wings; 
Every  word  has  its  own  spirit, 

True  or  false,  that  never  dies: 
Every  word  man's  lips  have  uttered 

Echoes  in  God's  skies." 


94  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

CHAPTER    III. 

GRAND   WORDS. 

The  fool  hath  planted  his  memory  with  an  army  of  words.—  SHAKSPEARE. 

In  the  commerce  of  speech  use  only  coin  of  gold  and  silver.  .  .  Be  pro- 
found with  clear  terms,  and  not  with  obscure  terms.— JOUBERT. 

I  observe  that  all  distinguished  poetry  is  written  in  the  oldest  and  simplest 
English  words.  There  is  a  point,  above  coarseness  and  below  refinement,  where 
propriety  abides.— EMERSON. 

Never  be  grandiloquent  when  you  want  to  drive  home  a  searching  truth. 
Don't  whip  with  a  switch  that  has  the  leaves  on,  if  you  want  to  tingle.— H.  W. 
BEECHER. 

Let,  then,  clerks  enditen  in  Latin,  for  they  have  the  property  of  science  and 
the  knowledge  in  that  faculty:  and  let  Frenchmen  in  their  French,  also,  enditen 
their  quaint  terms,  for  it  is  kindly  to  their  mouths;  and  let  us  show  our  fanta- 
sies in  such  words  as  we  learneden  of  our  dame's  tongue. — CHAUCER. 

IT  is  a  trite  remark  that  words  are  the  representatives 
of  things  and  thoughts,  as  coin  represents  wealth.  You 
carry  in  your  pocket  a  doubloon  or  a  dollar,  stamped  by 
the  king  or  state,  and  you  are  the  virtual  owner  of  what- 
ever it  will  purchase.  But  who  affixes  the  stamp  upon  a 
word?  No  prince  or  potentate  was  ever  strong  enough  to 
make  or  unmake  a  single  word.  Caesar  confessed  that  with 
all  his  power  he  could  not  do  it,  and  Claudius  could  not 
introduce  even  a  new  letter.  Cicero  tried  his  hand  at  it; 
but  though  he  proved  himself  a  skillful  mint-master,  and 
struck  some  admirable  trial-pieces,  which  were  absolutely 
needed  to  facilitate  mental  exchanges,  yet  they  did  not  gain 
circulation,  and  were  thrown  back  upon  his  hands.  But 
that  which  defied  the  power  of  Caesar  and  of  Cicero  does  not 
transcend  the  ability  of  many  writers  of  our  own  day,  some 


GRAND   WORDS.  95 

of  whom  are  adepts  in  the  art  of  word-coining,  and  are 
daily  minting  terms  and  phrases  which  must  make  even 
Noah  Webster,  boundless  as  was  his  charity  for  new  words, 
turn  in  his  grave.  It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether  these 
persons  do  so  much  damage  to  our  noble  English  language 
as  those  who  vulgarize  it  by  the  use  of  penny-a-liner  phrases. 
There  is  a  large  and  growing  class  of  speakers  and  writers, 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  who,  apparently  despising  the 
homely  but  terse  and  telling  words  of  their  mother  tongue, 
never  use  a  Saxon  term,  if  they  can  find  what  Lord 
Brougham  calls  a  "  long-tailed  word  in  'osity  or  Cation  "  to 
do  its  work. 

What  is  the  cause  of  this?  Is  it  the  extraordinary,  not 
to  say  excessive,  attention  now  given  by  persons  of  all  ages 
to  foreign  languages,  to  the  neglect  of  our  own?  Is  it  the 
comparative  inattention  given  to  correct  diction  by  the 
teachers  in  the  schools  of  to-day;  or  is  it  because  the 
favorite  books  of  the  young  are  sensational  stories,  made 
pungent,  and  in  a  sense,  natural,  through  the  lavish  use  of 
all  the  colloquialisms  and  vulgarisms  of  low  life?  Shall 
we  believe  that  it  is  because  there  is  little  individuality  and 
independence  in  these  days,  that  the  words  of  so  few  per- 
sons are  flavored  with  their  idiosyncrasies;  that  it  is  from 
conscious  poverty  of  thought,  that  they  try  to  trick  out 
their  ideas  in  glittering  words  and  phrases,  just  as  by 
means  of  high-heeled  boots,  a  laced  coat,  and  a  long  feather, 
a  fellow  with  a  little  soul  and  a  weak  body  might  try  to 
pass  muster  as  a  bold  grenadier?  Or,  again,  is  it  because 
of  the  prevalent  mania  for  the  sensational, —  the  craving 
for  novelty  and  excitement,  which  is  almost  universal  in 
these  days, —  that  so  many  persons  make  sense  subservient 
to  sound,  and  avoid  calling  things  by  their  proper  names? 


96  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Was  Talleyrand  wrong  when  he  said  that  language  was 
given  to  man  to  conceal  his  thought;  and  was  it  really 
given  to  hide  his  want  of  thought?  Is  it,  indeed,  the  main 
object  of  expression  to  convey  the  smallest  possible  amount 
of  meaning  with  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  appearance 
of  meaning;  and  since  nobody  can  be  "so  wise  as  Thurlow 
looked,"  to  look  as  wise  as  Thurlow  while  uttering  the 
veriest  truisms? 

Be  all  this  as  it  may,  in  nothing  else  is  the  lack  of  sim- 
plicity, which  is  so  characteristic  of  our  times,  more  marked 
than  in  the  prevailing  forms  of  expression.  "  The  curse 
and  the  peril  of  language  in  our  day,  and  particularly  in 
this  country,"  says  an  American  critic,  who  may,  perhaps, 
croak  at  times,  but  who  has  done  much  good  service  as  a 
literary  policeman  in  the  repression  of  verbal  licentious- 
ness,— "  is  that  it  is  at  the  mercy  of  men  who,  instead  of 
being  content  to  use  it  well,  according  to  their  honest 
ignorance,  use  it  ill  according  to  their  affected  knowledge ; 
who,  being  vulgar,  would  seem  elegant;  who,  being  empty, 
would  seem  full;  who  make  up  in  pretence  what  they  lack 
in  reality;  and  whose  little  thoughts  let  off  in  enormous 
phrases,  sound  like  fire-crackers  in  an  empty  barrel."  In 
the  estimation  of  many  writers  at  the  present  day,  the 
great,  crowning  vice  in  the  use  of  words  is,  apparently,  to 
employ  plain,  straightforward  English.  The  simple  Saxon  is 
not  good  enough  for  their  purposes,  and  so  they  array  their 
ideas  in  "  big,  dictionary  words,"  derived  from  the  Latin, 
and  load  their  style  with  expletives  as  tasteless  as  the 
streamers  of  tattered  finery  that  flutter  about  the  person 
of  a  dilapidated  belle.  The  "high-polite,"  in  short,  is  their 
favorite  style,  and  the  good  old  Spartan  rule  of  calling  a 
spade  a  spade  they  hold  in  thorough  contempt.  Their  great 


GRAND    WORDS.  97 

recipe  for  elegant  or  powerful  writing  is  to  call  the  most 
common  things  by  the  most  uncommon  names.  Provided 
that  a  word  is  out-of-the-way,  unusual,  or  far-fetched, —  and 
especially  if  it  is  one  of  many  syllables, —  they  care  little 
whether  it  is  apt  and  fit  or  not. 

With  them  a  fire  is  always  ''the  devouring  element:"  it 
never  burns  a  house,  but  it  always  "  consumes  an  edifice," 
unless  it  is  got  under,  in  which  case  "its  progress  is 
arrested."  A  railroad  accident  is  always  "  a  holocaust," 
and  its  victims  are  named  under  the  "  death-roll."  A 
man  who  is  the  first  to  do  a  thing  "  takes  the  initiative." 
Instead  of  loving  a  woman,  a  man  "  becomes  attached  "  to 
her;  instead  of  losing  his  mother  by  death,  he  "sustains  a 
bereavement  of  his  maternal  relative."  A  dog's  tail,  in  the 
pages  of  these  writers,  is  his  "caudal  appendage";  a  dog- 
breaker,  "a  kunopaedist " ;  and  a  fish-pond  they  call  by  no 
less  lofty  a  title  than  "  piscine  preserve."  Ladies,  in  their 
classic  pages,  have  ceased  to  be  married,  like  those  poor, 
vulgar  creatures,  their  grandmothers, —  they  are  "  led  to 
the  hymeneal  altar."  Of  the  existence  of  such  persons  as 
a  man,  a  woman,  a  T)oy  or  a  girl,  these  writers  are  pro- 
foundly ignorant :  though  they  often  speak  of "  individuals," 
"  gentlemen,"  "  characters,"  and  "  parties,"  and  often  recog- 
nize the  existence  of  "juveniles"  and  "juvenile  members 
of  the  community."  "  Individual"  is  another  piece  of  "  pomp- 
ous inanity  "  which  is  very  current  now.  In  "  Guesses  at 
Truth  "  mention  is  made  of  a  celebrated  preacher,  who  was 
so  destitute  of  all  feeling  for  decorum  in  language,  as  to 
call  our  Saviour  "  this  eminent  individual."  "  Individual " 
is  a  good  Latin  word,  and  serves  a  good  purpose  when  it 
distinguishes  a  person  from  a  people  or  class,  as  it  served 
a  good  purpose  in  the  scholastic  philosophy;  but  would 


98  WORDS;  THEIR  USB  AND  ABUSE. 

Cicero  or  Duns  Scotus  have  called  a  great  man  an 
individuum?  These  "  individuals,''  strange' to  say,  are  never 
dressed,  but  always  "attired";  they  never  take  off  their 
clothes,  but  "  divest  themselves  of  their  habiliments,"  which 
is  so  much  grander. 

Again:  the  Anti-Saxons,  if  we  may  so  call  them,  never 
tell  us  that  a  man  was  asleep,  but  say  that  he  was  "  locked 
in  slumber";  they  deem  it  vulgar,  and  perhaps  cruel,  to 
say  that  a  criminal  was  hanged:  but  very  elegant  to  say 
that  he  was  "  launched  into  eternity."  A  person  of  their 
acquaintance  never  does  so  low  a  thing  as  to  break  his 
leg;  he  "fractures  his  limb."  They  never  see  a  man  fall: 
but  sometimes  see  "  an  individual  precipitated."  Our  Latin 
friends, —  fortunate  souls, —  never  have  their  feelings  hurt, 
though  it  must  be  confessed  that  their  "  sensibilities "  are 
sometimes  dreadfully  "  lacerated."  Above  the  necessities  of 
their  poor  fellow-creatures,  they  never  do  so  vulgar  a  thing 
as  to  eat  a  meal;  they  always  "  partake  of  a  repast,"  which 
is  so  much  more  elegant.  They  never  do  so  commonplace 
a  thing  as  to  take  a  walk ;  they  "  make  a  pedestrian  ex- 
cursion." A  conjurer  with  them  is  a  "prestidigitator";  a 
fortune-teller,  a  "  vaticinator."  As  Pascal  says,  they  mask 
all  nature.  There  is  with  them  no  king,  but  an  "  august 
monarch";  no  Paris,  but  a  "capital  of  a  kingdom."  Even 
our  barbers  have  got  upon  stilts.  They  no  longer  sell 
tooth-powder  and  shaving-soap,  like  the  old  fogies,  their 
fathers,  but  "  odonto,"  and  "  dentifrice,"  and  "  rypophagon"; 
and  they  themselves,  from  the  barber-ous  persons  they 
once  were,  have  been  transformed  into  "  artists  in  hair." 
The  medical  faculty,  too,  have  caught  the  spirit  of  the  age. 
Who  would  suspect  that  "  epistaxis "  means  simply  bleed- 
ing  at  the  nose,  and  "emollient  cataplasm"  only  a  poul- 


GRAND   WORDS.  99 

tice?  Fancy  one  school-boy  doubling  up  his  fist  at  another, 
and  telling  him  to  look  out  for  epistaxis!  Who  would 
dream  that  "  anheidro-hepseterion "  (advertised  in  the 
London  "  Times ")  means  only  a  saucepan,  or  "  taxider- 
mist" a  bird-stufFer?  Is  it  not  remarkable  that  tradesmen 
have  ceased  "sending  in"  their  "little  bills,"  and  now 
only  "  render  their  accounts  "  ? 

"  There  are  people,"  says  Landor,  "  who  think  they 
write  and  speak  finely,  merely  because  they  have  forgotten 
the  language  in  which  their  fathers  and  mothers  used  to 
talk  to  them."  As  in  dress,  deportment,  etc.,  so  in  lan- 
guage, the  dread  of  vulgarity,  as  Whately  has  suggested, 
constantly  besetting  those  who  are  half  conscious  that  they 
are  in  danger  of  it,  drives  them  into  the  opposite  extreme 
of  affected  finery.  They  act  upon  the  advice  of  Boileau: 

"Quoiqne  vous  ecriyiez,  evitez  la  bassesse; 
Le  style  le  moins  noble  a  pourtant  sa  noblesse;" 

and,  to  avoid  the  undignified,  according  to  them,  it  is  only 
necessary  not  to  call  things  by  their  right  names. 

Such  persons  forget  that  glass  will  obstruct  the  light 
quite  as  much  when  beautifully  painted  as  when  discol- 
ored with  dirt ;  and  that  a  style  studded  with  far-fetched 
epithets  and  high-sounding  phrases  may  be  as  dark  as  one 
abounding  in  colloquial  vulgarisms.  Who  does  not  sym- 
pathize with  the  indignation  of  Dr.  Johnson,  when,  taking 
up  at  the  house  of  a  country  friend  a  so-called  "  Liberal 
Translation  of  the  New  Testament,"  he  read,  in  the 
eleventh  chapter  of  John,  instead  of  the  simple  and 
touching  words,  "Jesus  wept," — "Jesus,  the  Saviour  of 
the  world,  overcome  with  grief,  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears"?  "Puppy!"  exclaimed  the  critic,  as  he  threw 
down  the  book  in  a  rage;  and  had  the  author  been  pres- 


100  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ent,  Johnson  would  doubtless  have  thrown  it  at  his  head. 
Yet  the  great  literary  bashaw,  while  he  had  an  eagle's 
eye  for  the  faults  of  others,  was  unconscious  of  his  own 
sins  against  simplicity,  and,  though  he  spoke  like  a  wit, 
too  often  wrote  like  a  pedant.  He  had,  in  fact,  a  dialect 
of  his  own,  which  has  been  wittily  styled  Johnsonese. 
Goldsmith  hit  him  in  a  vulnerable  spot  when  he  said: 
"  Doctor,  if  you  were  to  write  a  fable  about  little  fishes, 
you  would  make  them  talk  like  whales."  The  faults  of 
his  pompous,  swelling  diction,  in  which  the  frivolity  of  a 
coxcomb  is  described  in  the  same  rolling  periods  and  with 
the  same  gravity  of  antithesis  with  which  he  would  thun- 
der against  rebellion  or  fanaticism,  are  hardly  exaggerated 
by  a  wit  of  his  own  time  who  calls  it 

"a  turgid  style, 

Which  gives  to  an  inch  the  importance  of  a  mile; 
Uplifts  the  club  of  Hercules  —  for  what? 
To  crush  a  butterfly,  or  brain  a  gnat; 
Bids  ocean  labor  with  tremendous  roar, 
To  hi'ave  a  cockle-shell  upon  the  shore; 
Sets  wheels  on  wheels  in  motion,— what  a  clatter! 
To  force  up  one  poor  nipperkin  of  water; 
Alike  in  every  theme  his  pompous  art, 
Heaven's  awful    thunder,  or  a  rumbling  cart." 

One  of  the  latest  "  modern  improvements "  in  speech 
is  the  substitution  of  "lady1'  and  "female"  for  the  good 
old  English  "  woman."  On  the  front  of  Cooper's  Reading- 
Room,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  is  the  sign  in  golden  let- 
ters, "  Male  and  Female  Reading-Rooms."  Suppose  Scott, 
in  his  noble  tribute  to  women  for  their  devotion  and 
tenderness  to  men  in  the  hour  of  suffering,  had  sung 

"  Oh,  LADIES,  in  our  hours  of  ease,"  etc., 

would  not  the  lines  have  been  far  more  touching?  An 
English  writer  says  truly  that  the  law  of  euphemisms  is 


GRAND   WOKDS.  101 

somewhat  capricious;  "one  cannot  always  tell  which  words 
are  decent  and  which  are  not.  .  .  It  really  seems  as  if  the 
old-fashioned  feminine  of  '  man '  were  fast  getting  pro- 
scribed. We,  undiscerning  male  creatures  that  we  are, 
might  have  thought  that  '  woman '  was  a  more  elegant 
and  more  distinctive  title  than  '  female.'  We  read  only 
the  other  day  a  report  of  a  lecture  on  the  poet  Crabbe, 
in  which  she  who  was  afterwards  Mrs.  Crabbe  was  spoken 
of  as  'a  female  to  whom  he  had  formed  an  attachment.' 
To  us,  indeed,  it  seems  that  a  man's  wife  should  be  spoken 
of  in  some  way  which  is  not  equally  applicable  to  a  ewe 
lamb  or  a  favorite  mare.  But  it  was  a  '  female '  who 
delivered  the  lecture,  and  we  suppose  the  females  know 
best  about  their  own  affairs." 

Can  any  person  account  for  the  apparent  antipathy 
which  many  writers  and  speakers  have  to  the  good  Saxon 
verb  "to  begin"?  Ninety-nine  out  of  every  hundred  per- 
sons one  talks  with  are  sure  to  prefer  the  French  words 
"  to  commence"  and  "  to  essay,"  and  the  tendency  is  strong 
to  prefer  "  to  inaugurate  "  to  either.  Nothing  in  our  day 
is  begun,  not  even  dinner;  it  is  "inaugurated  with  soup." 
In  their  fondness  for  the  French  words,  many  persons  are 
betrayed  into  solecisms.  Forgetting,  or  not  knowing,  that, 
while  "  to  begin "  may  be  followed  by  an  infinitive  or  a 
gerund,  "  to  commence  "  is  transitive,  and  must  be  followed 
by  a  noun  or  its  equivalent,  they  talk  of  "  commencing  to 
do"  a  thing,  "essaying  to  do  well,"  etc.  Persons  who 
think  that  "begin"  is  not  stately  enough,  or  that  it  is 
even  vulgar,  would  do  well  to  look  into  the  pages  of  Mil- 
ton and  Shakspeare.  With  all  his  fondness  for  Romanic 
words  the  former  hardly  once  uses  "  commence "  and 
"  commencement " ;  and  the  latter  is  not  only  content  with 


102  WOKDS;    THEIE   USE  ANT   ABUSE. 

the  idiomatic  word,  but  even  shortens  it,  as  in  the  well- 
known  line  that  depicts  so  vividly  the  guilt-wasted  soul 
of  Macbeth: 

"I  'gin  to  grow  a-weary  of  the  sun." 

What  a  shock  would  every  right-minded  reader  receive,  if, 
upon  opening  his  Bible,  he  should  find,  in  place  of  the  old 
familiar  words,  the  following:  "In  the  commencement  God 
created  the  heavens  and  the  earth," — "The  fear  of  the 
Lord  is  the  commencement  of  wisdom."  Well  did  Coleridge 
say:  "Intense  study  of  the  Bible  will  keep  any  writer 
from  being  vulgar  in  point  of  style."  "  Commence  "  is  a 
good  word  enough,  but,  being  of  outlandish  origin,  should 
never  take  the  place  of  "  begin,''  except  for  the  sake  of 
rhythm  or  variety. 

Another  of  these  grand  words  is  "  imbroglio."  It  is 
from  the  Italian,  and  means  an  intricate  or  complicated 
plot.  Why,  then,  should  a  quarrel  in  the  Cabinet  at 
Washington,  or  a  prospective  quarrel  with  France  or 
England,  be  called  an  "imbroglio"?  Again,  will  any  one 
explain  to  us  the  meaning  of  "  interpellation,"  so  often 
used  by  the  correspondents  of  our  daily  newspapers?  The 
word  properly  means  an  interruption ;  yet  when  an  oppo- 
sition member  of  the  French  or  Italian  Parliament  asks  a 
question  of  a  minister,  he  is  said  "  to  put  an  interpella- 
tion." Why  should  an  army  be  said  to  be  "  decimated," 
without  regard  to  the  number  or  nature  of  its  losses? 
Why,  again,  should  "donate"  be  preferred  to  "give"? 
Does  it  show  a  larger  soul,  a  more  magnificent  liberality, 
to  "donate"  than  to  give?  Must  we  "donate  the  devil 
his  due,"  when  we  would  be  unusually  charitable?  Why 
should  "  elect "  be  preferred  to  "  choose,"  when  there  is  no 
election  whatever;  -or  why  is  "  balance  "  preferable  to  "  re- 


GRAND   WORDS.  103 

mainder"?  As  a  writer  has  well  said:  "Would  any  man 
in  his  senses  dare  to  quote  King  David  as  saying:  'They 
are  full  of  children,  and  leave  the  balance  of  their  sub- 
stance unto  their  babes '  ?  or  read,  '  Surely  the  wrath  of 
man  shall  praise  thee:  the  balance  of  wrath  thou  shalt 
restrain,'  where  the  translators  of  our  Bible  wrote  '  the 
remainder '  ?  And  if  any  one  went  into  the  nursery,  and 
telling  that  tale  of  perennial  interest  of  the  little  boys  that 
a-sliding  went,  a-sliding  went,  a-sliding  went,  all  on  a 
summer's  day,  should,  after  recounting  how  they  all  fell 
in,  they  all  fell  in,  they  all  fell  in,  add  '  the  balance  ran 
away,'  would  there  not  go  up  a  chorus  of  tiny  but  indig- 
nant protests  against  this  mutilation,  which  would  enlist 
a  far  wider  sympathy  than  some  of  the  proposed  changes 
in  the  texts  of  classic  authors  which  have  set  editors  and 
commentators  at  loggerheads?" 

Again:  why  should  one  say  "rendition"  for  perform- 
ance, "enactment"  for  acting, "or  "nude"  for  naked?  In 
the  seventeenth  century,  certain  fanatics  in  England  ran 
about  without  clothes,  crying:  "  We  are  the  naked  Truth." 
Had  they  lived  in  this  age  of  refinement,  instead  of  shock- 
ing their  countrymen  with  such  indelicate  expressions,  they 
would  have  said,  "We  are  Verity  in  a  nude  condition"; 
and  had  any  person  clothed  them,  he  would  have  been  said 
to  have  "  rehabilitated "  them.  More  offensive  than  any 
of  these  grandiose  words  is  "intoxicated"  in  place  of 
drunk,  which  it  has  nearly  banished.  A  man  can  be  in- 
toxicated only  when  he  has  lost  his  wits,  not  by  quantity, 
but  by  quality, —  by  drinking  liquor  that  has  been  drugged. 
"Intoxicated,"  however,  has  five  syllables;  drunk  has  but 
one;  so  the  former  carries  the  day  by  five  to  one.  No 
doubt  nine-tenths  of  those  who  drink  to  excess  in  this 


104  WORDS;  THEIK  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

country  are,  in  fact,  intoxicated  or  poisoned;  still,  the  two 
words  should  not  be  confounded. 

Solomon  tells  us  that  there  is  nothing  new  under  the 
sun;  and  this  itching  for  pompous  forms  of  expression, — 
this  contempt  for  plainness  and  simplicity  of  style, —  is  as 
old  as  Aristotle.  In  the  third  book  of  his  Rhetoric,  discuss- 
ing the  causes  of  frigidity  of  style,  he  speaks  of  one  Alcida- 
mas,  a  writer  of  that  time,  as  "  employing  ornaments,  not 
as  seasonings  to  discourse,  but  as  if  they  were  the  only  food 
to  live  upon.  He  does  not  say  '  sweat,'  but  '  the  humid 
sweat;'  a  man  goes  not  to  the  Isthmian  games,  but  to 
'  the  collected  assembly  of  the  Isthmian  solemnity ' ;  laws 
are  '  the  legitimate  kings  of  commonwealths  ' ;  and  a  race, 
'  the  incursive  impulse  of  the  soul.'  A  rich  man  is  not 
bountiful,  but  the  '  artificer  of  universal  largess.'  "  Is  it 
not  curious  that  our  modern  refiners  of  language,  who 
often  pride  themselves  upon  their  taste  for  swelling  words 
and  phrases,  and  their  skill  in  using  them,  should  have 
been  anticipated  by  Alcidamas  two  thousand  years  ago? 

The  abuse  of  the  Queen's  English  to  which  we  have 
called  attention,  did  not  begin  with  Americans.  It  began 
with  our  trans- Atlantic  cousins,  who  employed  "  ink-horn  " 
terms  and  outlandish  phrases  at  a  very  early  period.  In 
"  Harrison's  Chronicle  "  we  are  told  that  after  the  Norman 
Conquest  "  the  English  tongue  grew  into  such  contempt  at 
court  that  most  men  thought  it  no  small  dishonor  to  speak 
any  English  there ;  which  bravery  took  his  hold  at  the  last 
likewise  in  the  country  with  every  plowman,  that  even  the 
very  carters  began  to  wax  weary  of  their  mother-tongue, 
and  labored  to  speak  French,  which  was  then  counted  no 
small  token  of  gentility." 

The  English  people  of  to-day  are  quite  as  much  addicted 


GKAND   WOKDS.  105 

to  the  grandiose  style  as  the  Americans.  Gough,  in  one  of 
his  lectures,  speaks  of  a  card  which  he  saw  in  London,  in 
which  a  man  called  himself  "  Illuminating  artist  to  Her 
Majesty,"  the  fact  being  that  he  lighted  the  gas-lamps 
near  the  palace.  Mr.  E.  A.  Freeman,  the  English  historian, 
complained  in  a  recent  lecture  that  our  language  had  few 
friends  and  many  foes,  its  only  friends  being  plow-boys  and 
a  few  scholars.  The  pleasant  old  "  inns  "  of  England,  he 
said,  had  disappeared,  their  places  being  supplied  by 
"hotels,"  or  "establishments";  while  the  landlord  had 
made  way  for  the  "  lessee  of  the  establishment."  A  gentle- 
man going  into  a  shop  in  Regent  street  to  buy  half-mourn- 
ing goods,  was  referred  by  the  shopman  to  "  the  mitigated 
affliction  department."  The  besetting  sin  of  some  of  the 
ablest  British  writers  of  this  century  is  their  lack  of  sim- 
plicity of  language.  Sydney  Smith  said  of  Sir  James  Mack- 
intosh, that  if  he  were  asked  for  a  definition  of  "  pepper," 
he  would  reply  thus  :  "  Pepper  may  philosophically  be 
described  as  a  dusty  and  highly  pulverized  seed  of  an  ori- 
ental fruit ;  an  article  rather  of  condiment  than  diet,  which, 
dispersed  lightly  over  the  surface  of  food,  with  no  other 
rule  than  the  caprice  of  the  consumer,  communicates  pleas- 
ure, rather  than  affords  nutrition;  and  by  adding  a  tropical 
flavor  to  the  gross  and  succulent  viands  of  the  north, 
approximates  the  different  regions  of  the  earth,  explains 
the  objects  of  commerce,  and  justifies  the  industry  of 
man." 

Francis  Jeffrey,  the  celebrated  critic,  had,  even  in  con- 
versation, an  artificial  style  and  language,  which  were  fit 
only  for  books  and  a  small  circle  of  learned  friends.  His 
diction  and  pronunciation,  it  is  said,  were  unintelligible  to 
the  mass  of  his  countrymen,  and  in  the  House  of  Commons 
5* 


106  WOItDS;    THEIR    USE    AXD   ABUSE. 

offensive  and  ridiculous.  An  anecdote  told  in  illustration 
of  this  peculiarity  strikingly  shows  the  superiority  of  sim- 
ple to  high-flown  language  in  the  practical  business  of  life. 
In  a  trial,  which  turned  upon  the  intellectual  competency 
of  a  testator,  Jeffrey  asked  a  witness,  a  plain  countryman, 
whether  the  testator  was  "  a  man  of  intellectual  capacity," 
— "an  intelligent,  shrewd  man," — "a  man  of  capacity?" 
"Had  he  ordinary  mental  endowments?"  "What  d'ye 
mean,  sir"?  asked  the  witness.  "I  mean,"  replied  Jeffrey, 
testily,  "  was  the  man  of  sufficient  ordinary  intelligence  to 
qualify  him  to  manage  his  own  affairs?"  "I  dinna  ken," 
replied  the  chafed  and  mystified  witness, — "  Wad  ye  say  the 
question  ower  again,  sir?"  Jeffrey  being  baffled,  Cockburn 
took  up  the  examination.  He  said:  "Ye  kenned  Tammas 

?"     "  Ou,  ay;  I  kenned  Tammas  weel;  me  and  him 

herded  together  when  we  were  laddies  (boys)."  "  Was 
there  onything  in  the  cretur?"  "  De'il  a  thing  but  what 
the  spune  (spoon)  put  into  him."  "  Would  you  have  trust- 
ed him  to  sell  a  cow  for  you?"  "A  cow!  I  wadna  lip- 
pened  (trusted)  him  to  sell  a  calf/'  Had  Jeffrey  devoted  a 
review  article  to  the  subject,  he  could  not  have  given  a 
more  vivid  idea  of  the  testator's  incapacity  to  manage  his 
own  affairs. 

Our  readers  need  not  be  told  how  much  Carlyle  has 
done  to  Teutonize  our  language  with  his  "  yardlongtailed  " 
German  compounds.  It  was  a  just  stroke  of  criticism 
when  a  New  York  auctioneer  introduced  a  miscellaneous 
lot  of  books  to  a  crowd  with  the  remark:  "Gentlemen,  of 
this  lot  I  need  only  say,  six  volumes  are  by  Thomas  Carlyle ; 
the  seventh  is  written  in  the  English  language."  Some  years 
ago,  a  learned  doctor  of  divinity  and  university  professor 
in  Canada  wrote  a  work  in  which,  wishing  to  state  the 


GKAXD    WORDS.  107 

simple  fact  that  the  "  rude  Indian "  had  learned  the  use 
of  firing,  he  delivered  himself  as  follows:  "He  had  made 
slave  of  the  heaven- born  element,  the  brother  of  the 
lightning,  the  grand  alchemist  and  artificer  of  all  times, 
though  as  yet  he  knew  not  all  the  worth  or  magical 
power  that  was  in  him.  By  his  means  the  sturdy  oak, 
which  flung  abroad  its  stalwart  arms  and  waved  its  leafy 
honors  defiant  in  the  forest,  was  made  to  bow  to  the 
behest  of  the  simple  aborigines."  As  the  plain  Scotch- 
woman said  of  De  Quincey,  "  the  bodie  has  an  awfu'  sicht 
o'  words!  "  This  style  of  speaking  and  writing  has  become 
so  common  that  it  can  no  longer  be  considered  wholly 
vulgar.  It  is  gradually  working  upward;  it  is  making  its 
way  into  official  writings  and  grave  octavos;  and  is  even 
spoken  with  unction  in  pulpits  and  senates.  Metaphysi- 
cians are  wont  to  define  words  as  the  signs  of  ideas ;  but, 
with  many  persons,  they  appear  -to  be,  not  so  much  the 
signs  of  their  thought,  as  the  signs  of  the  signs  of  their 
thought.  Such,  doubtless,  was  the  case  with  the  Scotch 
clergyman,  whom  a  bonneted  abhorrer  of  legal  preaching 
was  overheard  eulogizing:  "Man,  John,  wasna  yon 
preachin' !  —  yon  's  something  for  a  body  to  come  awa  wi'. 
The  way  that  he  smashed  down  his  text  into  so  mony  heads 
and  particulars,  just  a'  to  flinders!  Nine  heads  and  twenty 
particulars  in  ilka  head  —  and  sic  mouthfu's  o'  grand  words  ! 
—  an'  every  ane  o'  them  fu'  o'  meaning,  if  we  but  kent 
them.  We  hae  ill  improved  our  opportunities ;  —  man,  if 
we  could  just  mind  onything  he  said,  it  would  do  us  guid." 
The  whole  literature  of  notices,  handbills,  and  adver- 
tisements, in  our  day,  has  apparently  declared  "  war  to 
the  knife,"  against  every  trace  of  the  Angles,  Jutes  and 
Saxons.  We  have  no  schoolmasters  now;  they  are  all 


108  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

"  principals  of  collegiate  institutes " ;  no  copy-books,  but 
"specimens  of  caligraphy";  no  ink,  but  "writing-fluid"; 
no  physical  exercise,  but  Calisthenics  or  Gymnastics.  A 
man  who  opens  a  groggery  at  some  corner  for  the  gratifi- 
cation of  drunkards,  instead  of  announcing  his  enterprise 
by  its  real  name,  modestly  proclaims  through  the  daily 
papers  that  his  saloon  has  been  fitted  up  for  the  reception 
of  customers.  Even  the  learned  architects  of  log-cabins 
and  pioneer  cottages  can  find  names  for  them  only  in  the 
sonorous  dialects  of  oriental  climes.  Time  was  when  a 
farm-house  was  a  farm-house  and  a  porch  a  porch ;  but  now 
the  one  is  a  villa  or  haciendah,  and  the  other  nothing  less 
than  a  verandah.  In  short,  this  genteel  slang  pursues  us 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  In  old  times,  when  our 
fathers  and  mothers  died,  they  were  placed  in  coffins,  and 
buried  in  the  graveyard  or  burying-ground;  now,  when  an 
unfortunate  "  party  "  or  "  individual "  "  deceases  "  or  "  be- 
comes defunct,"  he  is  deposited  in  a  "  burial-casket "  and 
"  interred  in  a  cemetery."  It  matters  not  that  the  good  old 
words  grave  and  graveyard  have  been  set  in  the  pure  amber 
of  the  English  classics, —  that  the  Bible  says,  "There  is  no 
wisdom  in  the  grave,"  "  Cruel  as  the  grave,"  etc.  How 
much  more  pompous  and  magniloquent  the  Greek:  "  There 
is  no  wisdom  in  the  cemetery,"  "  Cruel  as  the  cemetery !" 
Seriously,  let  us  eschew  all  these  vulgar  fineries  of  style, 
as  we  would  eschew  the  fineries  of  a  dandy.  Their  legiti- 
mate effect  is  to  barbarize  our  language,  and  to  destroy  all 
the  peculiar  power,  distinctiveness,  and  appropriateness  of 
its  terms.  Words  that  are  rarely  used  will  at  last  inevi- 
tably disappear;  and  thus,  if  not  speedily  checked,  this 
grandiloquence  of  expression  will  do  an  irreparable  injury 
to  our  dear  old  English  tongue.  Poetry  may  for  a  while 


GRAND    WORDS.  109 

escape  the  effects  of  this  vulgar  coxcombry,  because  it  is 
the  farthest  out  of  the  reach  of  such  contagion;  but,  as  prose 
sinks,  so  must  poetry,  too,  be  ultimately  dragged  down 
into  the  general  gulf  of  feebleness  and  inanition. . 

It  was  a  saying  of  John  Foster  that  "  eloquence  resides 
in  the  thought,  and  no  words,  therefore,  can  make  that  elo- 
quent which  will  not  be  so  in  the  plainest  that  could  possi- 
bly express  the  same."  Nothing,  therefore,  can  be  more 
absurd  than  the  notion  that  the  sounding  brass  and  tink- 
ling cymbal  of  pompous  and  sonorous  language  are  necessary 
to  the  expression  of  the  sublime  and  powerful  in  eloquence 
and  poetry.  So  far  is  this  from  being  true,  that  the  finest, 
noblest,  and  most  spirit-stirring  sentiments  ever  uttered, 
have  been  couched,  not  in  sounding  polysyllables  from  the 
Greek  or  Latin,  but  in  the  simplest  Saxon, —  in  the  lan- 
guage we  hear  hourly  in  the  streets  and  by  our  firesides. 
Dr.  Johnson  once  said  that  "  big  thinkers  require  big 
words."  He  did  not  think  so  at  the  time  of  the  great 
Methodist  movement  in  the  last  century,  when  "  the  ice 
period  of  the  establishment  was  breaking  up."  He  attrib- 
uted the  Wesleys'  success  to  their  plain,  familiar  way  of 
preaching,  "  which,"  he  says,  "  clergymen  of  genius  and 
learning  ought  to  do  from  a  principle  of  duty."  Arthur 
Helps  tells  a  story  of  an  illiterate  soldier  at  the  chapel  of 
Lord  Morpeth's  castle  in  Ireland.  Whenever  Archbishop 
Whately  came  to  preach,  it  was  observed  that  this  rough 
private  was  always  in  his  place,  mouth  open,  as  if  in  sym- 
pathy with  his  ears.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  playfully  took 
him  to  task  for  it,  supposing  it  was  due  to  the  usual  vulgar 
admiration  of  a  celebrated  man.  But  the  man  had  a  better 
reason,  and  was  able  to  give  it.  He  said,  "  That  isn't  it  at 
all.  The  Archbishop  is  easy  to  understand.  There  are  no 


110  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

fine  words  in  him.  A  fellow  like  me,  now,  can  follow  along 
and  take  every  bit  of  it  in."  "  Whately's  simplicity," 
observes  a  writer  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  this  illus- 
tration, "  meant  no  lack  of  pith  or  power.  -  The  whole 
momentum  of  his  large  and  healthy  brain  went  into  those 
homely  sentences,  rousing  and  feeding  the  rude  and  the 
cultured  hearer's  hunger  alike,  as  sweet  bread  and  juicy 
meat  satisfy  a  natural  appetite." 

Emerson  observes  that  as  any  orator  at  the  bar  or  the 
senate  rises  in  his  thought,  he  descends  in  his  language; 
that  is,  when  he  rises  to  any  height  of  thought  or  of  pas- 
sion, he  comes  down  to  a  level  with  the  ear  of  all  his  audi- 
ence. "  It  is  the  oratory  of  John  Brown  and  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,  the  one  at  Charleston,  the  other  at  Gettysburg, 
in  the  two  best  specimens  of  oratory  we  have  had  in  this 
country."  Daniel  Webster,  in  his  youijj,  was  a  little  bom- 
bastic in  his  speeches ;  but  he  very  soon  discovered  that 
the  force  of  a  sentence  depends  chiefly  on  its  meaning, 
and  that  great  writing  is  that  in  which  much  is  said  in 
few  words,  and  those  the  simplest  that  will  answer  the 
purpose.  Having  made  this  discovery,  he  became  "  a  great 
eraser  of  adjectives";  and  whether  convincing  juries,  or 
thundering  in  the  senate, —  whether  demolishing  Hayne, 
or  measuring  swords  with  Calhoun, —  on  all  occasions  used 
the  plainest  words.  "  You  will  find,"  said  he  to  a  friend, 
"  in  my  speeches  to  juries,  no  hard  words,  no  Latin  phrases, 
no  fieri  facias;  and  that  is  the  secret  of  my  style,  if  I  have 
any." 

What  can  be  simpler  and  yet  more  sublime  than  the 
"Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light!"  of  Moses, 
which  Longinus  so  admired?  Would  it  be  an  improve- 
ment to  say,  "  Let  there  be  light,  nnd  there  was  a,  solar 


GRAND    WORDS.  Ill 

illumination!"  "lam  like  a  child  picking  up  pebbles  on 
the  seashore,"  said  Newton.  Had  he  said  he  was  like  an 
awe-struck  votary,  lying  prostrate  before  the  stupendous 
majesty  of  the  cosmical  universe,  and  the  mighty,  and  in- 
comprehensible Ourgos  which  had  created  all  things,  we 
might  think  it  very  fine,  but  should  not  carry  in  our 
memories  such  a  luggage  of  words.  The  fiery  eloquSnce 
of  the  field  and  the  forum  springs  upon  the  vulgar  idiom 
as  a  soldier  leaps  upon  his  horse.  "  Trust  in  the  Lord, 
and  keep  your  powder  dry,"  said  Cromwell  to  his  soldiers 
on  the  eve  of  a  battle.  "  Silence,  you  thirty  voices !  "  roars 
Mirabeau  to  a  knot  of  opposers  around  the  tribune.  "  I'd 
sell  the  shirt  off  my  back  to  support  the  war!  "  cries  Lord 
Chatham;  and  again,  "Conquer  the  Americans!  I  might 
as  well  think  of  driving  them  before  me  with  this  crutch." 
"  I  know,"  says  Kossuth,  speaking  of  the  march  of  intel- 
ligence, "  that  the  light  has  spread,  and  that  even  the  bayo- 
nets think."  "  You  may  shake  me,  if  you  please,"  said  a 
little  Yankee  constable  to  a  stout,  burly  culprit  whom  he 
had  come  to  arrest,  and  who  threatened  violence,  "  but 
recollect,  if  you  do  it,  you  don't  shake  a  chap  of  five-feet- 
six;  you've  got  to  shake  the  whole  State  of  Massachusetts!" 
When  a  Hoosier  was  asked  by  a  Yankee  how  much  he 
weighed, —  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  commonly  I  weigh  about  one 
hundred  and  eighty;  but  tvhen  I'm  mad  I  weigh  a  ton!" 
"  Were  I  to  die  at  this  moment,"  wrote  Nelson  after  the 
battle  of  the  Nile,  "  more  frigates  would  be  found  written 
on  my  heart."  The  "Don't  give  up  the  ship!"  of  our 
memorable  sea-captain  stirs  the  heart  like  the  sound  of 
a  trumpet.  Had  he  exhorted  the  men  to  fight  to  the 
last  gasp  in  defence  of  their  imperilled  liberties,  their 
altars,  and  the  glory  «f  America,  the  words  might  have 


112  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

been   historic,   but   they   never    would   have   been   quoted 
vernacularly. 

There  is  another  phase  of  the  popular  leaning  to  the 
grandiose  style,  which  is  not  less  reprehensible  than  that 
which  we  have  noticed;  we  mean  the  affectation  of  for- 
eign words  and  phrases.  Many  persons  scarcely  deign  to 
call*  any  thing  by  its  proper  English  name,  but,  as  if  they 
believed  with  Butler,  that 

"he  that's  but  able  to  express 
No  sense  at  all  in  several  languages, 
Will  pass  for  learneder  than  he  that's  known 
To  speak  strongest  reason  in  his  own," — 

they  apply  to  it  some  German,  French,  or  Italian  word. 
In  their  dialect  people  are  biases,  passes,  or  have  m> 
distingue-  in  petto,  dolce  far  niente,  are  among  their  pet 
phrases;  and  not  infrequently  they  betray  their  ignorance 
by  some  ludicrous  blunder,  as  when  they  use  boqitef  for 
bouquet,  soubriquet  for  sobriquet,  and  talk  of  "  a  sous,"  in- 
stead of  "  a  sou"  a  mistake  as  laughable  as  the  French- 
man's "  un  pence.1'  In  striking  contrast  to  this  taste  for 
exotics,  is  the  rooted  dislike  which  the  French  have  to  for- 
eign words  and  idioms.  It  is  only  in  cases  of  the  direst 
necessity  that  they  consent  to  borrow  from  their  neighbors, 
whether  in  perfide  Angleterre  or  elsewhere.  Even  when 
they  deign  to  adopt  a  new  word,  they  so  disguise  it  that 
the  parent  language  would  not  know  it  again.  They  strip 
it  gradually  of  its  foreign  dress,  and  make  it  assume  the 
costume  of  the  country.  "  Beefsteak "  is  turned  into 
bifteck;  "plum-pudding"  is  metamorphosed  into  /jom/hn/ 
de  plomb;  "  partner  "  becomes  partenaire;  "  riding-coat " 
becomes  redingote;  and  now  fashionable  English  tailors 
advertise  these  "  redingotes,"  never  for  a  moment  dreaming 


GRAND    WORDS.  113 

that  they  are  borrowing  an  expression  which  the  French 
stole  from  the  English. 

It  is  said  that  the  Spaniards,  in  all  ages,  have  been 
distinguished  for  their  love  of  long  and  high-flown  names, — 
the  sounding  brass  and  tinkling  cymbal  of  appellative  glory 
and  honor.  In  looking  at  the  long  string  of  titles  fast- 
ened like  the  tail  of  a  kite  to  the  name  of  some  Don  or 
other  grandee,  one  is  puzzled  to  tell  whether  it  is  the  man 
that  belongs  to  the  name  or  the  name  to  the  man.  There 
is  nothing  odd,  therefore,  in  the  conduct  of  that  Spaniard, 
who,  whenever  his  name  was  mentioned,  always  took  off 
his  hat  in  token  of  respect  to  himself, —  that  is,  as  the  pos- 
sessor of  so  many  appellations.  A  person  of  high  diplo- 
matic talent,  with  the  unpretending  and  rather  plebeian 
name  of  "  Bubb,"  was  once  nominated  to  represent  Great 
Britain  at  Madrid.  Lord  Chesterfield  was  then  a  Minister 
of  State,  and  on  seeing  the  newly  appointed  minister  re- 
marked,—  "  My  dear  fellow,  your  name  will  damn  you  with 
the  Spaniards ;  a  one-syllable  patronymic  will  infallibly  dis- 
gust the  grandees  of  that  hyperbolic  nation."  "  What 
shall  I  do?"  said  Bubb.  "Oh!  that  is  easily  managed," 
rejoined  the  peer:  "get  yourself  dubbed,  before  you  start 
on  your  mission,  as  Don  Vaco  y  Hijo  Hermoso  y  toro  y 
Sill  y  Bubb,  and  on  your  arrival  you  will  have  all  the 
Spanish  Court  at  your  feet." 

The  effort  of  the  Spaniards  to  support  their  dignity  by 
long  and  sounding  titles  is  repeated  daily,  in  a  slightly 
different  form,  by  many  democratic  Americans.  Writers 
and  speakers  are  constantly  striving  to  compensate  for 
poverty  of  thought  by  a  multitude  of  words.  Magnilo- 
quent terms,  sounding  sentences,  unexpected  and  startling 
phrases,  are  dropped  from  pen  and  tongue,  as  gaudy  and 


114  WORDS;    THEIR   USE  AND   ABUSE. 

high-colored  goods  are  displayed  in  shop-windows,  to  at- 
tract attention.  "  Ruskin,"  says  an  intelligent  writer, 
"long  ago  cried  out  against  the  stuccoed  lies  which  rear 
their  unblushing  fronts  on  so  many  street-corners,  sham- 
ing our  civilization,  and  exerting  their  whole  influence  to 
make  us  false  and  pretentious.  Mrs.  Stowe  and  others 
have  warned  us  against  the  silken  lies  that,  frizzled, 
flounced,  padded,  compressed,  lily-whitened  and  rouged, 
flit  about  our  drawing-rooms  by  gas-light,  making  us 
familiar  with  sham  and  shoddy,  and  luring  us  away  from 
real  and  modest  worth.  Let  there  be  added  to  these  com- 
plaints the  strongest  denunciation  of  the  kindred  literary 
lies  which  hum  about  our  ears  and  glitter  before  our  eyes, 
which  corrupt  the  language,  and  wrong  every  man  and 
woman  who  speaks  it  by  robbing  it  of  some  portion  of  its 
beauty  and  power." 

When  shall  we  learn  that  the  secret  of  beauty  and  of 
force,  in  speaking  and  in  writing,  is  not  to  say  simple 
things  finely,  but  to  say  fine  things  as  simply  as  possible? 
"  To  clothe,"  says  Fuller,  "  low  creeping  matter  with  high- 
flown  language  is  not  fine  fancy,  but  flat  foolery.  It  rather 
loads  than  raises  a  wren  to  fasten  the  feathers  of  an 
ostrich  to  her  wings."  It  is  a  significant  fact  that  the 
books  over  which  generation  after  generation  of  readers 
has  hung  with  the  deepest  delight, —  which  have  retained 
their  hold,  amid  all  the  fluctuations  of  taste,  upon  all 
classes, —  have  been  written  in  the  simplest  and  most 
idiomatic  English,  that  English  for  which  the  "  fine  school " 
of  writers  would  substitute  a  verbose  and  affected  phrase- 
ology. Such  books  are  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  "  Gulliver's 
Travels,"  and  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  which  Macaulay  has 
justly  characterized  as  treasures  of  pure  English.  Fitz- 


GRAND   WORDS.  115 

Greene  Halleck  tells  us  that  some  years  ago  a  letter  fell 
into  his  hands  which  a  Scotch  servant-girl  had  written  to 
her  lover.  The  style  charmed  him,  and  his  literary  friends 
agreed  that  it  was  fairly  inimitable.  Anxious  to  clear  up 
the  mystery  of  its  beauty,  and  even  elegance,  he  searched 
for  its  author,  who  thus  solved  the  enigma:  "  Sir,  I  came  to 
this  country  four  years  ago.  Then  I  did  not  know  how 
to  read  or  write.  Since  then  I  have  learned  to  read  and 
write,  but  I  have  not  yet  learned  how  to  spell;  so  always 
when  I  sit  down  to  write  a  letter,  I  choose  those  words 
which  are  so  short  and  simple  that  I  am  sure  to  know 
how  to  spell  them."-  This  was  the  whole  secret.  The 
simple-minded  Scotch  girl  knew  more-  of  rhetoric  than 
Blair  or  Campbell.  As  Halleck  forcibly  says:  "Simplicity 
is  beauty.  Simplicity  is  power." 

It  is  through  the  arts  and  sciences,  whose  progress  is 
so  rapid,  that  many  words  of  "  learned  length  and  thun- 
dering sound "  force  their  way  in  these  days  into  the 
language.  The  vocabulary  of  science  is  so  repugnant  to 
the  ear  and  so  hard  to  the  tongue,  that  it  is  a  long  while 
before  its  terms  become  popularized.  We  may  be  sure  that 
many  years  will  elapse  before  aristolochioid,  megalosaurius, 
acanthopterygian,  nothoclcena-trichomanoides,  monopleuro- 
branchian,  anonaceo-hydrocharideo-nymphceoid,  and  other 
such  "  huge  verbal  blocks,  masses  of  syllabic  aggregations, 
which  both  the  tongue  and  the  taste  find  it  difficult  to 
surmount,"  will  establish  themselves  in  the  language  of 
literature  and  common  life.  Still,  while  the  lover  of 
Anglo-Saxon  simplicity  is  rarely  shocked  by  such  terms, 
there  are  hundreds  of  others,  less  stupendous,  such  as 
phenomenon,  demonstrative,  inverse  proportion,  transcendental, 
category,  predicament,  exorbitant,  which,  once  heard  only  in 


116  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  AHUSE. 

scientific  lecture  rooms  or  in  schools,  are  now  the  common 
currency  of  the  educated;  and  it  is  said  that,  in  one  of 
our  Eastern  colleges,  the  learned  mathematical  professor, 
on  whom  the  duty  devolved  one  morning  of  making  the 
chapel  prayer,  startled  his  hearers  by  asking  Divine  Good- 
ness "  to  enable  them  to  know  its  length,  its  breadth,  and 
its  superficial  contents."  Should  popular  enlightenment 
go  on  for  some  ages  with  the  prodigious  strides  it  has 
lately  made,  a  future  generation  may  hear  lovers  address- 
ing their  mistresses  in  the  terms  predicted  by  Punch: 

''  I  love  thee,  Mary,  and  thou  lovest  me. 
Our  mutual  flame  is  like  the  affinity 
That  cloth  exist  between  two  simple  bodies. 
I  am  Potassium  to  thine  Oxygen. 
.  .  .  Sweet,  thy  name  is  Briggs, 
And  mine  is  Johnson.    Wherefore  should  not  we 
Agree  to  form  a  Johnsonate  of  Briggsf 
We  will.    The  day,  the  happy  day  is  nigh, 
When  Johnson  shall  with  beauteous  Briggs  combine." 

Indispensable  as  the  technical  terms  of  science  unques- 
tionably are,  there  is  no  doubt  they  are  often  employed 
where  simpler  and  plainer  words  would  do  as  well  or 
better.  To  express  the  results  of  science  without  the 
ostentation  of  its  terms,  is  an  admirable  art,  known,  un- 
fortunately, to  but  few.  How  few  surgeons  can  commu- 
nicate in  simple,  intelligible  language  to  a  jury,  in  a 
law-case,  the  results  of  a  post-mortem  examination!  Al- 
most invariably  the  learned  witness  finds  a  wound  "  in  the 
parieties  of  the  abdomen,  opening  the  peritoneal  cavity"; 
or  an  injury  of  some  "vertebra  in  the  dorsal  or  lumbar 
region";  or  something  else  equally  frightful.  Some  years 
ago,  in  one  of  the  English  courts,  a  judge  rebuked  a  wit- 
ness of  this  kind  by  saying,  "  You  mean  so  and  so,  do  you 
not,  sir?" — at  the  same  time  translating  his  scientific 


GRAND   WORDS.  117 

barbarisms  into  a  few  words  of  simple  English.  "  I  do, 
my  Lord."  "Then  why  can't  you  say  so?"  He  had  said 
so,  but  in  a  foreign  tongue. 

To  all  the  writers  and  speakers  who  needlessly  employ 
grandiose  or  abstract  terms,  instead  of  plain  Saxon  ones, 
we  would  say,  as  FalstaflF  said  to  Pistol:  "If  thou  hast 
any  tidings  whatever  to  deliver,  prithee  deliver  them  like 
a  man  of  this  world!"  Some  years  ago  a  white  minister 
preached  in  a  plain,  direct  style  to  a  church  of  negroes 
in  the  South,  whose  "  colored "  pastor  was  greatly  ad- 
dicted to  the  use  of  high-flown  language  in  his  sermons. 
In  the  season  of  exhortation  and  prayer  that  followed,  an 
old  negro  thanked  the  Lord  for  the  various  blessings  of 
the  Sabbath  and  the  Sanctuary,  and  especially,  he  added, 
"  we  thank  Thee  that  to-day  we  have  been  fed  from  a 
loir  o-ih."'  Would  it  not  be  well  for  preachers  generally 
to  remember  that  many  of  Christ's  flock  are  "  little  ones," 
whose  necks  are  short,  and  that  they  may  consequently 
starve,  if  their  food,  however  nutritious,  is  placed  in  too 
lofty  a  crib?  Never,  perhaps,  did  a  college  professor  give 
a  better  lesson  in  rhetoric  than  was  given  by  a  plain 
farmer  in  Kennebec  county,  Maine,  to  a  schoolmaster. 
"  You  are  excavating  a  subterranean  channel,"  it  seems, 
said  the  pedagogue,  as  he  saw  the  farmer  at  work  near 
his  house.  "  No,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  am  only  digging 
a  ditch."  A  similar  rebuke  was  once  administered  by 
the  witty  Governor  Corwin,  of  Ohio,  to  a  young  lady 
who  addressed  him  in  high-flown  terms.  Being  on  a 
political  tour  through  the  State  with  the  Hon.  Thomas 
Ewing,  they  stopped  at  night  at  the  house  of  a  leading 
politician,  but  found  no  one  at  home  except  his  niece, 
who  presided  at  the  tea  table.  Having  never  conversed 


118  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

with  "  great  men  "  before,  she  supposed  she  must  talk  to 
them  in  elephantine  language.  "  Mr.  Ewing,  will  you 
take  condiments  in  your  tea,  sir?"  inquired  the  young 
lady.  "  Yes,  miss,  if  you  please,"  replied  the  Senator. 
Corwin's  eyes  twinkled.  Here  was  a  temptation  that 
could  not  be  resisted.  Gratified  at  the  apparent  success 
of  her  trial  in  talking  to  the  United  States  Senator,  the 
young  lady  addressed  Mr.  Corwin  in  the  same  manner  — 
"Will  you  take  condiments  in  your  tea,  sir?"  "Pepper 
and  salt,  but  no  mustard,"  was  the  prompt  reply,  which 
the  lady,  it  is  said,  never  forgave,  declaring  that  the 
Governor  was  "  horridly  vulgar." 

The  faults  of  all  those  who  thus  barbarize  our  tongue 
would  be  comparatively  excusable,  were  it  so  barren  of 
resources  that  any  man  whose  conceptions  are  clear  need 
find  difficulty  in  wreaking  them  upon  expression.  But 
Shakespeare  and  Milton,  Bacon  and  Locke,  have  shown 
that,  whether  we  look  to  its  flexibility  and  harmony,  or 
to  its  gigantic  strength,  its  exquisite  delicacy  and  won- 
drous wealth  of  words,  it  is  rich  enough  for  all  the  exi- 
gencies of  the  human  mind;  that  it  can  express  the  loftiest 
conceptions  of  the  poet,  portray  the  deepest  emotions  of 
the  human  heart;  that  it  can  convey,  if  not  the  frip- 
peries, at  least  the  manly  courtesies  of  polite  life,  and 
make  palpable  the  profoundest  researches  of  the  philoso- 
pher. It  is  not,  therefore,  because  of  the  poverty  of  our 
vocabulary  that  so  many  writers  Gallicize  and  Germanize 
our  tongue;  the  real  cause  is  hinted  at  in  the  answer  of 
Handel  to  an  ambitious  musician  who  attributed  the  hisses 
of  his  hearers  to  a  defect  in  the  instrument  on  which  he 
was  playing:  "The  fault  is  not  there,  my  friend,"  said  the 
composer,  jealous  of  the  honor  of  the  organ,  on  which  he 


GRAND    WORDS.  119 

himself  performed:  "  the  fact  is,  you  have  no  music  in  your 
soul." 

We  are  aware  that  the  English  tongue, —  our  own  car- 
tilaginous tongue,  as  some  one  has  quaintly  styled  it, — 
has  been  decried,  even  by  poets  who  have  made  it  dis- 
course the  sweetest  music,  for  its  lack  of  expressive  terms, 
and  for  its  excess  in  consonants, —  guttural,  sibilant,  or 
mute.  It  was  this  latter  peculiarity,  doubtless,  which  led 
Charles  V.,  three  centuries  ago,  to  compare  it  to  the  whis- 
tling of  birds;  and  even  Lord  Byron,  whose  own  burning 
verse,  distinguished  not  less  by  its  melody  than  by  its  in- 
comparable energy,  has  signally  revealed  the  hidden  har- 
mony that  lies  in  our  short  Saxon  words, —  turns  traitor 
to  his  native  language,  and  in  a  moment  of  caprice  de- 
nounces it  as 

"  Our  harsh,  northern,  grunting  guttural, 
Which  we  are  obliged  to  hiss,  and  spit,  and  sputter  all," 

not  thinking  that  in  this  very  selection  of  condemnator3r 
words  he  has  strikingly  shown  the  wondrous  expressiveness 
of  the  tongue.  Even  Addison,  who  wrote  so  musical  Eng- 
lish, contrasting  our  own  tongue  with  the  vocal  beauty  of 
the  Greek,  and  forgetting  that  the  latter  is  the  very  low- 
est merit  of  a  language,  being  merely  its  sensuous  merit, 
calls  it  brick  as  against  marble.  Waller,  too,  ungrateful 
to  the  noble  tongue  that  has  preserved  his  name,  declares 
that 

"  Poets  that  lasting  marble  seek, 
Must  carve  in  Latin  or  in  Greek." 

Because  smoothness  is  one  of  the  requisites  of  verse,  it  has 
been  hastily  concluded  that  languages  in  which  vowels  and 
liquids  predominate  must  be  better  adapted  to  poetry,  and 
that  the  most  mellifluous  must  also  be  the  most  melodious. 
But  so  far  is  this  from  being  true,  that,  as  Henry  Taylor 


120  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

has  remarked,  in  dramatic  verse  our  English  combinations 
of  consonants  are  invaluable,  both  in  giving  expression  to 
the  harsher  passions,  and  in  imparting  keenness  and  sig- 
nificancy  to  the  language  of  discrimination,  and  especially 
to  that  of  scorn. 

The  truth  is,  our  language,  so  far  from  being  harsh. 
or  poor  and  limited  in  its  vocabulary,  is  the  richest  and 
most  copious  now  spoken  on  the  globe.  As  Sir  -Thomas 
More  long  ago  declared:  "It  is  plenteous  enough  to  ex- 
presse  our  myndes  in  anythinge  whereof  one  man  hath 
used  to  speak  with  another."  Owing  to  its  composite 
character,  it  has  a  choice  of  terms  expressive  of  every 
shade  of  difference  in  the  idea,  compared  with  which  the 
vocabulary  of  many  other  modern  tongues  is  poverty  itself. 
.  But  for  the  impiety  of  the  act,  those  who  speak  it  might 
well  raise  a  monument  to  the  madcaps  who  undertook  the 
tower  of  Babel  ;  for,  as  the  mixture  of  many  bloods  has 
made  them  the  most  vigorous  of  modern  races,  so  has  the 
mingling  of  divers  tongues  given  them  a  language  which 
is  the  noblest  vehicle  of  thought  ever  vouchsafed  to  man. 
This  very  mingling  of  tongues  in  our  language  has  been 
made  the  ground  of  an  accusation  against  it ;  and  the 
Anglo-Saxon  is  sometimes  told  by  foreigners  that  he  "  has 
been  at  a  great  feast  of  languages  and  stolen  the  scraps"; 
that  his  dialect  is  "  the  alms-basket  of  wit,"  made  up  of 
beggarly  borrowings,  and  is  wholly  lacking  in  originality. 

It  is  true  that  the  Anglo-Saxon  has  pillaged  largely 
from  the  speech  of  other  peoples  ;  that  he  has  a  craving 
desire  to  annex,  not  only  states  and  provinces,  even  whole 
empires,  to  his  own,  but  even  the  best  parts  of  their  lan- 
guages; that  there  is  scarce  a  tongue  on  the  globe  which 
his  absorbing  genius  has  not  laid  under  contribution  to 


GKAXD   WORDS.  121 

enrich  the  exchequer  of  his  all-conquering  speech.  Strip 
him  of  his  borrowings, —  or  "annexations,"  if  you  will, — 
and  he  would  neither  have  a  foot  of  soil  to  stand  upon, 
nor  a  rag  of  language  in  which  to  clothe  his  shivering 
ideas.  To  say  nothing  of  the  Greek,  Latin  and  French 
which  enter  so  largely  into  the  woof  of  the  tongue,  we  are 
indebted  to  the  Italian,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  Dutch,  Ara- 
bic, Hebrew,  Hindoo,  and  even  the  North  American  Indian 
dialects,  for  many  words  which  we  cannot  do  without. 
The  word-barks  of  our  language  are  daily  increasing  in 
size,  and  terms  that  sprang  up  at  Delhi  and  Benares  four 
thousand  years  ago  are  to-day  scaling  the  cliffs  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  But  while  the  English  has  thus  bor- 
rowed largely  from  other  tongues,  and  the  multifarious 
etymology  of  "  its  Babylonish  vocabulary,"  as  its  enemies 
are  pleased  to  call  it,  renders  it,  of  all  modern  languages, 
one  of  the  most  difficult  to  master  in  all  its  wealth  and 
power,  yet  it  makes  up  in  eclecticism,  vigor,  and  abun- 
dance, far  more  than  it  loses  in  apparent  originality. 
Mosaic-like  and  heterogeneous  as  are  its  materials,  it  is 
yet  no  mingle-mangle  or  patchwork,  but  is  as  individual  as 
the  French  or  the  German.  Though  the  rough  materials 
are  gathered  from  a  hundred  sources,  yet  such  is  its  digest- 
ive and  assimilative  energy  that  the  most  discordant  ali- 
ments, passing  through  its  anaconda-like  stomach,  are  as 
speedily  identified  with  its  own  independent  existence  as 
the  beefsteak  which  yesterday  gave  roundness  to  the  hinder 
symmetry  of  a  prize  ox,  becomes  to-morrow  part  and  parcel 
of  the  proper  substance, —  the  breast,leg,  or  arm, —  of  an 
Illinois  farmer. 

In    fact,    the  very  caprices    and    irregularities    of   our 
idiom,  orthography,  and    pronunciation,  which  make    for- 
6 


122  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

eigners  "  stare  and  gasp,"  and  are  ridiculed  by  our  own 
philological  ultraists,  are  the  strongest  proofs  of  the  noble- 
ness and  perfection  of  our  language.  It  is  the  very  extent 
to  which  these  caprices,  peculiar  idioms,  and  exceptions 
prevail  in  any  tongue,  that  forms  the  true  scale  of  its 
worth  and  beauty;  and  hence  we  find  them  more  numerous 
in  Greek  than  in  Latin, —  in  French  or  Italian  than  in 
Irish  or  Indian.  There  is  less  symmetry  in  the  rugged, 
gnarled  oak,  with  the  grotesque  contortions  of  its  branches, 
which  has  defied  the  storms  of  a  thousand  years,  than  in 
the  smoothly  clipped  Dutch  yew  tree;  but  it  is  from  the 
former  that  we  hew  out  the  knees  of  mighty  line-of-battle 
ships,  while  a  vessel  built  of  the  latter  would  go  to  pieces 
in  the  first  storm.  It  was  our  own  English  that  sustained 
him  who  soared  "  above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame  "; 
and  the  same  "  well  of  English  undefiled "  did  not  fail 
the  myriad-minded  dramatist,  when 

"  Each  scene  of  many-colored  life  he  drew, 
Exhausted  worlds,  and  then  imagined  new." 

Nor  have  even  these  great  writers,  marvellous  and  varied 
as  is  their  excellence,  fathomed  the  powers  of  the  language 
for  grand  and  harmonious  expression,  or  used  them  to  the 
full.  It  has  "  combinations  of  sound  grander  than  ever 
rolled  through  the  mind  of  Milton;  more  awful  than  the 
mad  gasps  of  Lear;  sweeter  than  the  sighs  of  Desdemona; 
more  stirring  than  the  speech  of  Antony;  sadder  than  the 
plaints  of  Hamlet;  merrier  than  the  mocks  of  Falstaff." 
To  those,  therefore,  who  complain  of  the  poverty  or  harsh- 
ness of  our  tongue,  we  may  say,  in  the  words  of  George 
Herbert: 

"  Let  foreign  nations  of  their  language  boast, 

What  fine  variety  each  tongue  affords; 
I  like  our  language,  as  our  men  and  coast;  — 
Who  cannot  dress  it  well,  want  WIT,  not  WORDS." 


SMALL    WOBDS.  123 

CHAPTER    IV. 

SMALL  WORDS. 

N 

It  is  with  words  as  with  sunbeams,— the  more  they  arc  condensed,  the 
deeper  they  burn.— SOUTHEY. 

The  pompous  march  of  blank  verse  admits  the  accompaniment  of  rolling 
and  diffusive  expressions;  but  energy,  and  condensation,  and  tenderness, 
must  be  sought  for  in  the  pithy,  monosyllabic  Saxon  of  our  fathers.— REV. 
MATTHEW  HARRISON. 

A  MONO  the  various  forms  of  ingratitude,  one  of  the 
-L±-  commonest  is  that  of  kicking  down  the  ladder  by 
which  one  has  climbed  the  steeps  of  celebrity;  and  a  gcod 
illustration  of  this  is  the  conduct  of  the  author  of  the 
following  lines,  who,  though  indebted  in  no  small  degree 
for  his  fame  to  the  small  words,  the  monosyllabic  music, 
of  our  tongue,  sneers  at  them  as  low: 

"  While  feeble  expletives  their  aid  do  join, 
And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line." 

How  ingenious!  how  felicitous!  the  reader  exclaims;  and, 
truly,  Pope  has  shown  himself  wonderfully  adroit  in  ridi- 
culing the  Saxon  part  of  the  language  with  words  bor- 
rowed from  its  own  vocabulary.  But  let  no  man  despise 
little  words,  even  though  he  echo  the  little  wasp  of  Twick- 
enham. Alexander  Pope  is  a  high  authority  in  English 
literature;  but  it  is  long  since  he  was  regarded  as  having 
the  infallibility  of  a  Pope  Alexander.  The  multitude  of 
passages  in  his  works,  in  which  the  small  words  form  not 
only  the  bolts,  pins,  and  hinges,  but  the  chief  material  in 
the  structure  of  his  verse,  show  that  he  knew  well  enough 
their  value;  'but  it  was  hard  to  avoid  the  temptation  of 


124  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

such  a  line  as  that  quoted.  "  Small  words,"  he  elsewhere 
says,  "  are  generally  stiff  and  languishing,  but  they  may 
be  beautiful  to  express  melancholy."  It  is  the  old  story  of 

" the  ladder 

Whereto  the  climber  upward  turns  his  face. 
But  wheii  he  once  attains  the  utmost  round, 
He  then  unto  the  ladder  turns  his  back, 
Looks  in  the  clouds,  scorning  the  base  degrees 
By  which  he  did  ascend." 

The  truth  is,  the  words  most  potent  in  life  and  liter- 
ature,—  in  the  mart,  in  the  Senate,  in  the  forum,  and  at 
the  fireside, —  are  small  words,  the  monosyllables  which 
the  half-educated  speaker  and  writer  despises.  All  pas- 
sionate expression, —  the  outpouring  of  the  soul  when 
moved  to  its  depths, —  is,  for  the  most  part,  in  monosyl- 
lables. They  are  the  heart-beats,  the  very  throbs  of  the 
brain,  made  visible  by  utterance.  The  will  makes  its 
giant  victory- strokes  in  little  monosyllables,  deciding  for 
the  right  and  against  the  wrong.  In  the  hour  of  fierce 
temptation,  at  the  ballot-box,  in  the  court-room,  in  all 
the  crises  of  life,  how  potent  for  good  or  evil  are  the 
little  monosyllables,  Yes  and  No!  "  Yes  is  the  Olympian 
nod  of  approval  which  fills  heaven  with  ambrosia  and 
light;  no  is  the  stamp  of  Jupiter  which  shakes  heaven 
and  darkens  the  faces  of  the  gods.  Yes:  how  it  trembles 
from  the  maiden's  lips,  the  broken  utterance,  the  key- 
syllable  of  a  divine  song  which  her  heart  only  sings;  how 
it  echoes  in  the  ecstatic  pulses  of  the  doubtful  lover,  and 
makes  Paradise  open  its  gates  for  the  royal  entry  of  the 
triumphing  conqueror,  Love.  JVb, —  well  might  Miles 
Standish  say  that  he  could  not  stand  fire  if  No  should 
come  '  point-blank  from  the  mouth  of  a  woman ' ;  what 
'captain,  colonel  or  knight-at-arms '  could?  No:  'tis  the 


SMALL   WORDS.  125 

impregnable  fortress, —  the  very  Malakoff  of  the  will;  it 
is  the  breastwork  and  barrier  thrown  up  which  the 
charge  must  be  fierce  indeed  to  batter  down  or  overleap. 
It  is  the  grand  and  guarded  tower  .against  temptation ;  it 
is  the  fierce  and  sudden  arrow  through  all  the  rings  that 
dismays  the  suitors  of  the  dear  and  long-cherished  and 
faithful  Penelope,  and  makes  the  unforgotten  king  start 
from  the  disguise  of  a  beggar." 

Again:  there  is  a  whole  class  of  words,  and  those 
among  the  most  expressive  in  the  language,  of  which  the 
great  majority  are  monosyllables.  We  refer  to  the  inter- 
jections. We  are  aware  that  some  philologists  deny  that 
interjections  are  language.  Home  Tooke  sneers  at  this 
whole  class  of  words  as  "brutish  and  inarticulate,"  as 
"  the  miserable  refuge  of  the  speechless,"  and  complains 
that,  "  because  beautiful  ana1  gaudy,"  they  have  been  suf- 
fered to  usurp  a  place  among  words.  "  Where  will  you 
look  for  it"  (the  interjection),  he  triumphantly  asks; 
"  will  you  find  it  among  laws,  or  in  books  of  civil  insti- 
tutions, in  history,  or  in  any  treatise  of  useful  arts  or 
sciences?  No:  you  must  seek  for  it  in  rhetoric  and  po-' 
etry,  in  novels,  plays  and  romances."  This  acute  writer 
has  forgotten  one  book  in  which  interjections  abound, 
and  awaken  in  the  mind  emotions  of  the  highest  grand- 
eur and  pathos, — namely,  the  Bible.  But  the  use  of  this 
part  of  speech  is  not  confined  to  books.  It  is  heard 
wherever  men  interchange  thought  and  feeling,  whether 
on  the  gravest  or  the  most  trivial  themes;  in  tones  of 
the  tenderest  love  and  of  the  deadliest  hate;  in  shouts  of 
joy  and  ecstacies  of  rapture,  and  in  the  expression  of 
deep  anguish,  remorse  and  despair;  in  short,  in  the  out- 
burst of  every  human  feeling.  More  than  this,  not  only 


126  WOKDS;    THEIR  USE   AND  ABUSE. 

is  it  heard  in  daily  life,  but  we  are  told  by  the  highest 
authority  that  it  is  heard  in  the  hallelujahs  of  angels, 
and  in  the  continual  Holy!  Holy!  Holy!  of  the  cherubim. 

What  word  in  the  English  language  is  fuller  of  sig- 
nificance, has  a  greater  variety  of  meanings,  than  the 
diminutive  Oh?  Uttered  by  the  infant  to  express  sur- 
prise or  delight,  it  is  used  by  the  man  to  indicate  fear, 
aspiration  or  appeal,  and,  indeed,  according  to  the  tone 
in  which  it  is  uttered,  may  voice  almost  any  one  of  the 
emotions  of  which  he  is  capable.  What  a  volume  of 
meaning  is  condensed  in  the  derisive  "Oh!  oh!"  which 
greets  a  silly  utterance  in  the  House  of  Commons!  In 
no  other  assembly,  perhaps,  are  the  powers  of  human 
speech  more  fully  exhibited;  yet  it  was  in  that  body  that 
one  of  the  most  famous  of  interjections  originated, —  we 
mean  the  cry  of  "Hear!  hear!"  which,  though  at  first 
an  imperative  verb,  is  now  "  nothing  more  or  less  than  a 
great  historical  interjection,"  indicating,  according  to  the 
tone  in  which  it  is  uttered,  admiration,  acquiescence,  in- 
dignation or  derision.  It  has  been  truly  said  that  when 
a  large  assembly  is  animated  by  a  common  sentiment 
which  demands  instantaneous  utterance,  it  can  find  that 
utterance  only  through  interjections. 

Again,  what  depth  of  meaning  in  this  little  word,  as 
an  expression  of  grief,  in  the  following  lines  by  Words- 
worth : 

"She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be; 
Now  she  is  in  her  grave,— and  oh! 
The  difference  to  me." 

What  possible  combination  of  words  could  be  more 
significant  than  the  reply,  "Pooh!  pooh!"  to  a  contro- 
versialist's theory,  or  the  contemptuous  "Fudge!"  with 


SMALL    WORDS.  127 

which  Mr.  Churchill,  in  "The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  sums 
up  the  pretensions  of  the  languishing  Miss  Carolina  Wil- 
helmina  Amelia  Skeggs: 

"Virtue,  my  dear  Lady  Blarney,  virtue  is  worth  any  price;  but  where  is 
that  to  be  found?" 
"Fudge!" 

What  volumes  of  meaning  are  sometimes  condensed  into 
the  little  word  psha!  "  Doubt,"  says  Thackeray,  "  is  always 
crying  psha  and  sneering."  How  expressive  are  those  al- 
most infinitesimal  words  which  epitomize  the  alternations 
of  human  life,  all!  and  ha!  As  Fuller  beautifully  moralizes: 
"Ha!  is  the  interjection  of  laughter;  all!  is  an  interjection 
of  sorrow.  The  difference  between  them  is  very  small,  as 
consisting  only  in  the  transposition  of  what  is  no  substan- 
tial letter,  but  a  bare  aspiration.  How  quickly,  in  the  age 
of  a  minute, ,  in  the  very  turning  of  our  breath,  is  our 
mirth  changed  to  mourning!" 

The  truth  is  that,  so  far  is  this  class  of  words  from 
being,  as  Max  Muller  contends,  the  mere  outskirts  of  lan- 
guage, they  are  more  truly  words  than  any  others.  These 
little  words,  so  expressive  of  joy,  of  hope,  of  doubt,  of  fear, 
which  leap  from  the  heart  like  fiery  jets  from  volcanic 
isles, —  these  surviving  particles  of  the  ante-Babel  tongues, 
which  spring  with  the  flush  or  blanching  of  the  face  to 
all  lips,  and  are  understood  by  all  men, —  these  "  silver 
fragments  of  a  broken  voice,"  to  use  an  expression  of 
Tennyson's,  "  the  only  remains  of  the  Eden  lexicon  in  the 
dictionaries  of  all  races," — 

"The  only  words 
Of  Paradise  that  have  survived  the  fall," — 

are  emphatically  and  preeminently  language.  It  is  doubt- 
less true  that  civilization,  with  its  freezing  formalities, 


128  WORDS  ;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

tends  to  diminish  the  use  of  interjections,  as  well  as  their 
natural  accompaniments,  gesture  and  gesticulation;  but  on 
the  other  hand,  it  should  be  noted,  that  there  are  "  certain 
interjections  which  are  the  fruits  of,  and  only  fit  to  find 
a  place  in,  the  highest  and  most  mature  forms  of  human 
culture."  Interjections,  in  truth,  are  not  so  much  "_/wr/x 
of  speech"  as  entire  expressions  of  feeling  or  thought. 
They  are  preeminently  pictorial.  If  I  pronounce  the 
words  house,  strike,  black,  beautifully,  without  other  words 
or  explanatory  gestures,  I  say  nothing  distinctly;  I  may 
mean  any  one  of  a  hundred  things;  but  if  I  utter  an 
interjectional  exclamation,  denoting  joy  or  sorrow,  surprise 
or  fear,  every  person  who  hears  me  knows  at  once  by 
what  affection  I  am  moved.  I  communicate  a  fact  by  a 
single  syllable.  Max  Miiller  admits  that  interjections, 
together  with  gestures,  the  movements  of  the  muscles  of 
the  mouth  and  the  eye,  would  be  quite  sufficient  for  all 
the  purposes  which  language  answers  with  the  majority 
of  mankind.  It  is  said  that  a  late  king  of  Naples  once 
entertained  his  inflammable  subjects  from  his  balcony  by 
a  speech  consisting  of  nothing  but  gestures  and  a  few  in- 
terjections, and  sent  them  away  contented.  Coming  from 
the  lips  of  a  great  orator,  these  little  words,  so  despised 
by  grammarians,  may  be  more  powerful,  more  to  the  point, 
more  eloquent,  than  a  long  speech.  Their  inherent  ex- 
pressiveness entitles  them  to  be  regarded  as  the  appro- 
priate language,  the  mother-tongue  of  passion;  and  hence 
the  effect  of  good  acting  depends  largely  on  the  proper 
introduction  and  just  articulation  of  this  class  of  words. 
Shakspeare's  interjections  exact  a  rare  command  of 
modulation,  and  cannot  be  rendered  with  any  truth  ex- 
cept by  one  who  has  mastered  the  whole  play.  What  a 


SMALL   WORDS.  129 

profound  insight  of  the  masterpiece  of  the  poet  is  required 
of  him  who  would  adequately  utter  the  word  indeed  in 
the  following  passage  of  Othello!  "It  contains  in  it," 
says  an  English  writer,  "  the  gist  of  the  chief  action  of 
the  play,  and  it  implies  all  that  the  plot  develops.  It 
ought  to  be  spoken  with  such  an  intonation  as  to  suggest 
the  diabolic  scheme  of  lago's  conduct.  There  is  no  thought 
of  the  grammatical  structure  of  the  compound,  consisting 
of  the  preposition  in  and  the  substantive  deed,  which  is 
equivalent  to  act,  fact,  or  reality.  All  this  vanishes  and 
is  lost  in  the  mere  iambic  dissyllable  which  is  employed 
as  a  vehicle  for  the  feigned  tones  of  surprise." 

"  lago.  I  did  not  think  he  had  been  acquainted  with  her. 
Oth.  O  yes,  and  went  between  us  very  oft. 
logo.  INDEED! 

Oth.  Indeed?   ay,  indeed.      Discern'st   thou  anght  in  that?     Is  he  not 
konest? 

logo.  Honest,  my  lord? 
Oth.  Honest?  ay,  honest!" 

The  English  language  is  preeminently  a  language  of 
small  words.  Its  fondness  for  monosyllables  is  even  stronger 
than  that  of  the  Anglo-Saxon.  Not  a  few  words  of  this 
class,  such  as  the  verbs  to  love,  bake,  beat,  slide,  sivim,  bind, 
blotv,  brew,  were,  in  the  Anglo-Saxon,  dissyllables.  The 
English  language  cuts  down  its  words  to  the  narrowest 
possible  limits, —  lopping  and  condensing,  never  expanding. 
Sometimes  it  cuts  off  an  initial  syllable,  as  in  "  'gin  "  for 
"  engine,"  "  'van  "  for  "  carryvan,"  "  'bus  "  for  "  omnibus," 
"  'wig"  for  "periwig;"  sometimes  it  cuts  off  a  final  sylla- 
ble, or  syllables,  as  in  "  aid  "  for  "  aid-de-camp,"  "  prim  " 
for  "primitive,1'  "grog"  for  "grogram,"  "pants"  for 
"pantaloons,"  "tick"  for  (pawnbroker's)  "ticket;"  some- 
times it  strikes  out  a  letter,  or  letters,  from  the  middle 
6* 


130  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

of  a  word;  as  "last"  for  "latest,"  "lark"  for  "laverock," 
"since"  for  "sithence."  Again,  it  contracts  a  word,  as 
in  "sent"  for  "sended,"  "built"  for  "builded,"  "chirp" 
for  "chirrup"  or  "cheer  up,"  "fag"  for  "fatigue,"  "con- 
sols" for  "consolidated  annuities,"  etc.  In  speaking,  we 
clip  our  vowels  shorter  than  any  other  people;  Voltaire 
said  that  the  English  gained  two  hours  a  day  by  clipping 
their  words.  The  same  love  of  brevity  has  shown  itself 
in  rendering  the  final  e  in  English  always  mute.  In 
Chaucer  the  final  e  must  often  be  sounded  as  a  separate 
syllable,  or  the  verse  will  limp.  To  the  same  cause  we 
owe  the  hissing  s,  so  offensive  to  foreign  ears,  and  which 
has  been  compared  to  the  sound  of  red-hot  iron  plunged 
in  water.  The  old  termination  of  the  verb,  th,  has  given 
way  to  s  in  the  third  person  singular,  and  en  to  s  in  the 
third  person  plural. 

The  Anglo-Saxon,  the  substratum  of  our  modern  En- 
glish, is  emphatically  monosyllabic;  yet  many  of  the 
grandest  passages  in  our  literature  are  made  up  almost 
exclusively  of  Saxon  words.  The  English  Bible  abounds 
in  grand,  sublime,  and  tender  passages,  couched  almost 
entirely  in  words  of  one  syllable.  The  passage  in  Ezekiel, 
which  Coleridge  is  said  to  have  considered  the  sublimest 
in  the  whole  Bible:  "And  he  said  unto  me,  son  of  man, 
can  these  bones  live?  And  I  answered,  0  Lord  God,  thou 
knowest," — contains  seventeen  monosyllables  to  three 
others.  What  passage  in  Holy  Writ  surpasses  in  ener- 
getic brevity  that  which  describes  the  death  of  Sisera, — 
"At  her  feet  he  bowed,  he  fell;  at  her  feet  he  bowed,  he 
fell,  he  lay  down;  where  he  bowed,  there  he  fell  down 
dead"?  Here  are  twenty-two  monosyllables,  to  one  dis- 
syllable thrice  repeated,  and  that  a  word  which  is  usually 


SMALL   WORDS.  131 

pronounced  as  a  monosyllable.  The  lament  of  David  over 
Saul  and  Jonathan  is  not  surpassed  in  pathos  by  any  sim- 
ilar passage  in  the  whole  range  of  literature;  yet  a  very 
large  proportion  of  these  touching  words  are  of  one  or 
two  syllables: — "The  beauty  of  Israel  is  slain  upon  the 
high  places;  how  are  the  mighty  fallen!  .  .  Ye  mountains 
of  Gilboa,  let  there  be  no  dew,  neither  let  there  be  rain 
upon  you,  nor  fields  of  offerings.  .  .  Saul  and  Jonathan 
were  lovely  and  pleasant  in  their  lives,  and  in  their  death 
they  were  not  divided.  .  .  They  were  swifter  than  eagles, 
they  were  stronger  than  lions.  .  .  How  are  the  mighty 
fallen  in  the  midst  of  the  battle!  0  Jonathan,  thou  wast 
slain  in  thine  high  places.  I  am  distressed  for  thee,  my 
brother  Jonathan :  very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me : 
thy  love  to  me  was  wonderful,  passing  the  love  of  women." 
The  early  writers,  the  "  pure  wells  of  English  unde- 
filed,"  abound  in  small  words.  Shakspeare  employs  them 
in  his  finest  passages,  especially  when  he  would  paint  a 
scene  with  a  few  masterly  touches.  Hear  Macbeth: 

"Here  lay  Duncan, 

Hie  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood; 
And  his  gash'd  stabs  look'd  like  a  breach  in  Nature 
For  ruin's  wasteful  entrance.    There  the  murderers, 
Steep'd  in  the  colors  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 
Unmannerly  breech'd  with  gore.'* 

Are    monosyllables   passionless?     Listen,  again,  to  the 
"Thane  of  Cawdor": 

"  That  is  a  step 

On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.    Stars,  hide  your  fires, 
Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires. 
The  eye  winks  at  the  hand.    Yet,  let  that  be 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see." 

Two  dissyllables  only  among  fifty-two  words! 


132  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Bishop  Hall,  in  one  of  his  most  powerful  satires,  speak- 
ing of  the  vanity  of  "  adding  house  to  hquse  and  field  to 
field,"  has  these  beautiful  lines: 

"Fond  fool!   six  feet  shall  serve  for  all  thy  store, 
And  he  that  cares  for  most  shall  find  no  more." 

"  What  harmonious  monosyllables!"  exclaims  the  critic, 
Gifford;  yet  they  may  be  paralleled  by  others  in  the  same 
writer,  equally  musical  and  equally  expressive. 

Was  Milton  tame?  He  knew  when  to  use  polysylla- 
bles of  "learned  length  and  thundering  sound";  but  he 
knew  also  when  to  produce  the  grandest  effects  by  the  small 
words  despised  by  inferior  artists.  Read  his  account  of  the 
journey  of  the  fallen  angels: 

"Through  many  a  dark  and  dreary  vale 
They  passed,  and  many  a  region  dolorous, 
O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp, 
Rocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death,— 
A  universe  of  death. 

In  what  other  language  shall  we  find  in  the  same 
number  of  words  a  more  vivid  picture  of  desolation  than 
this?  Hear,  again,  the  lost  archangel  calling  upon  hell  to 
receive  its  new  possessor: 

"One  who  brings 

A  mind  not  to  be  changed  by  place  or  time. 
The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  hell,  a  hell  of  heaven. 
What  matter  where,  if  I  be  still  the  same, 
And  what  I  should  be  — all  but  less  than  he 
Whom  thunder  hath  made  greater?    Here,  at  least, 
We  shall  be  free;  the  Almighty  hath  not  built 
Here  for  His  envy;  will  not  drive  us  hence; 
Here  we  may  reign  secure,  and,  in  my  choice, 
To  reign  is  worth  ambition,  though  in  hell; 
Better  to  reign  in  hell,  than  serve  in  heaven." 

Did  Byron  lack  force  or  fire?  His  skilful  use  of  mono- 
syllables is  often  the  very  secret  of  his  charm.  Listen  to 


SMALL   WORDS.  133 

the  words  in  which  he  describes  the  destruction  of  Sen- 
nacherib: 

"For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the  blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  passed; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  wax'd  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  beat  but  once,  and  forever  lay  still." 

Here,  out  of  forty-three  words,  all  but  three  are  mono- 
syllables; and  yet  how  exquisitely  are  all  these  monosylla- 
bles linked  into  the  majestic  and  animated  movement  of 
the  anapestic  measure!  Again,  what  can  be  more  mu- 
sical and  more  melancholy  than  the  opening  verse  of  the 
lines  in  which  the  same  poet  bids  adieu  to  his  native 
land? 

"Adieu!   adien!  my  native  shore 

Fades  o'er  the  waters  blue, 
The  night-winds  sigh,  the  breakers  roar, 
And  shrieks  the  wild  sea-mew. 

"Yon  sun  that  sets  upon  the  sea 

We  follow  in  his  flight; 
Farewell  awhile  to  him  and  thee, 
My  native  land,  good  night!" 

"  With  thce,  my  bark,  I'll  swiftly  go 

Athwart  the  foaming  brine; 
Nor  care  what  land  thou  bear'st  me  to, 
So  not  again  to  mine. 

"Welcome,  welcome,  ye  dark  blue  waves! 

And  when  you  fail  my  sight, 
Welcome,  ye  deserts  and  ye  caves! 
My  native  land,  good  night!" 

Two  Latin  words,  native  and  desert;  one  French,  adieu; 
the  rest,  English  purely.  The  third  and  fourth  lines  paint 
the  scene  to  the  life;  yet  all  the  words  but  one  are  mono- 
syllables. 

The  following  brief  passage  from  one  of  Landor's  poems 
strikingly  illustrates  the  metrical  effect  of  simple  words  of 
one  syllable: 


134  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

.  .    '-She  was  sent  forth 

To  bring  that  light  which  never  wintry  blast 
Blows  out,  nor  rain,  nor  snow  extinguishes  — 
The  light  that  shines  from  loving  eyes  upon 
Eyes  that  love  back,  till  they  can  see  no  more." 

Here,  out  of  thirty  different  words,  but  one  is  a  long  one; 
nearly  all  the  rest  are  monosyllables. 

Herbert  Spencer,  in  an  able  paper  on  the  "  Philosophy 
of  Style,"  has  pointed  out  the  superior  forcibleness  of 
Saxon-English  to  Latin-English,  and  shown  that  it  is  due 
largely  to  the  comparative  brevity  of  the  Saxon.  If  a 
thought  gains --in  energy  in-  proportion  as  it  is  expressed 
in  fewer  words,  it  must  also  gain  in  energy  in  propor- 
tion as  the  words  in  which  it  is  expressed  have  fewer  syl- 
lables. If  surplus  articulations  fatigue  the  hearer,  distract 
his  attention,  and  diminish  the  strength  of  the  impression 
made  upon  him,  it  matters  not  whether  they  consist  of 
entire  words  or  of  parts  of  words.  "  Formerly,"  says  an 
able,  writer,  "  when  armies  engaged  in  battle,  they  were 
drawn  up  in  one  long  line,  fighting  from  flank  to  flank; 
but  a  great  general  broke  up  this  heavy  mass  into  several 
files,  so  that  he  could  bend  his  front  at  will,  bring  any 
troops  he  chose  into  action,  and,  even  after  the  first  on- 
slaught, change  the  whole  order  of  the  field;  and  though 
such  a  broken  line  might  not  have  pleased  an  old  sol- 
dier's eye,  as  having  a  look  of  weakness  about  it,  still  it 
carried  the  day,  and  is  everywhere  now  the  arrangement. 
There  will  thus  be  an  advantage,  the  advantage  of  supple- 
ness, in  having  the  parts  of  a  word  to  a  certain  degree 
kept  by  themselves;  this,  indeed,  is  the  way  with  all  lan- 
guages as  they  become  more  refined;  and  so  far  are  mono- 
syllabic languages  from  being  lame  and  ungainly,  that 
such  are  the  sweetest  and  gracefulest,  as  those  of  Asia; 


SMALL   WORDS.  135 

and  the  most  rough  and  untamed  (those  of  North  Amer- 
ica) abound  in  huge  unkempt  words, — yardlongtailed,  like 
fiends." 

We  have  already  spoken  of  Johnson's  fondness  for  big, 
swelling  words,  the  leviathans  of  the  lexicon,  whatever  the 
theme  upon  which  he  was  writing;  and  also  of  certain 
speakers  and  writers  in  our  own  day,  who  have  an  equal 
contempt  for  small  words,  and  never  use  one  when  they 
can  find  a  pompous  polysyllable  to  take  its  place.  It  is 
evident,  however,  from  the  passages  we  have  cited,  that 
these  Liliputians, — -these  Tom  Thumbs  of  the  dictionary, — 
play  as  important  a  part  in  our  literature  as  their  bigger 
and  more  magniloquent  brethren.  Like  the  infusoria  of 
our  globe,  so  long  unnoticed,  which  are  now  known  to  have 
raised  whole  continents  from  the  depths  of  the  ocean,  these 
words,  once  so  despised,  are  now  rising  in  importance,  and 
are  admitted  by  scholars  to  form  an  important  class  in  the 
great  family  of  words.  In  some  kinds  of  writing  their 
almost  exclusive  use  is  indispensable.  What  would  have 
been  the  fate  of  Bunyan's  immortal  book  had  he  told  the 
story  of  the  Pilgrim's  journey  in  the  ponderous,  ele- 
phantine "osities"  and  "ations"  of  Johnson,  or  the  gor- 
geous Latinity  of  Taylor?  It  would  have  been  like  build- 
ing a  boat  out  of  timbers  cut  out  for  a  ship.  It  is  owing 
to  this  grandiose  style,  as  much  as  to  any  other  cause,  that 
the  author  of  the  "  Rambler,"  in  spite  of  his  sturdy  strength 
and  grasp  of  mind,  "  lies  like  an  Egyptian  king,  buried  and 
forgotten  in  the  pyramid  of  his  fame."  When  we  remem- 
ber that  the  Saxon  language,  the  soul  of  the  English,  is 
essentially  monosyllabic;  that  our  language  contains,  of 
monosyllables  formed  by  the  vowel  a  alone,  more  than  five 
hundred, —  by  the  vowel  e,  some  four  hundred  and  fifty;  by 


136  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

the  vowel  ?',  about  four  hundred;  by  the  vowel  o,  over  four 
hundred;  and  by  the  vowel  u,  more  than  two  hundred  and 
fifty ;  we  must  admit  that  these  seemingly  petty  and  insig- 
nificant words,  even  the  microscopic  particles,  so  far  from 
meriting  to  be  treated  as  "  creepers,"  are  of  high  impor- 
tance, and  that  to  know  when  and  how  to  use  them  is  of  no 
less  moment  to  the  speaker  or  writer  than  to  know  when  to 
use  the  grandiloquent  expressions  which  we  have  borrowed 
from  the  language  of  Greece  and  Rome.  To  every  man  who 
has  occasion  to  teach  or  move  his  fellow-men  by  tongue  or 
pen,  we  would  *ay  in  the  words  of  Dr.  Addison  Alexander, — 
themselves  a  happy  example  of  the  thing  he  commends: 

"Think  not  that  strength  lies  in  the  big  round  word, 

Or  that  the  brief  and  plain  must  needs  be  weak, 
To  whom  can  this  be  true  who  once  has  heard 

The  cry  for  help,  the  tongue  that  all  men  Bpeak, 
When  want  or  woe  or  fear  is  in  the  throat, 

So  that  each  word  gasped  out  is  like  a  shriek 
Pressed  from  the  sore  heart,  or  a  strange  wild  note 

Sung  by  some  fay  or  fiend.    There  is  a  strength 
Which  dies  if  stretched  too  far  or  spun  too  fine, 

Which  has  more  height  than  breadth,  more  depth  than  length. 
Let  but  this  force  of  thought  and  speech  be  mine, 

And  he  that  will  may  take  the  sleek,  fat  phrase, 
Which  glows  and  burns  not,  though  it  gleam  and  shine,— 

Light,  but  no  heat— a  flash,  but  not  a  blaze! 
Nor  is  it  mere  strength  that  the  short  word  boasts; 

It  serves  of  more  than  fight  or  storm  to  tell. 
The  roar  of  waves  that  clash  on  rock-bound  coasts, 

The  crash  of  tall  trees  when  the  wild  winds  swell, 
The  roar  of  guns,  the  groans  of  men  that  die 

On  blood-stained  fields.    It  has  a  voice  as  well 
For  them  that  far  off  on  their  sick-beds  He; 

For  them  that  weep,  for  them  that  mourn  the  dead; 
For  them  that  laugh,  and  dance,  and  clap  the  hand; 

To  joy's  quick  step,  as  well  as  grief's  slow  tread, 
The  sweet,  plain  words  we  learned  at  first  keep  time, 

And,  though  the  theme  be  sad,  or  gay,  or  grand. 
With  each,  with  all,  these  may  be  made  to  chime, 

In  thought,  or  speech,  or  song,  in  prose  or  rhyme." 


WORDS    WITHOUT   MEANING.  137 


CHAPTER  V. 

WORDS   WITHOUT   MEANING. 

POLONIUS.  What  do  you  read,  my  lord  ? 
HAJ^LET.     Words,  words,  words. — SHAKSPEARE. 

Is  not  cant  the  materia  prima  of  the  Devil,  from  which  all  falsehoods, 
imbecilities,  abominations,  body  themselves;  from  which  no  true  thing  can 
come?  For  cant  is  itself  properly  a  double-distilled  lie;  the  second  power  of 
a  lie.—  CARLYLE. 

That  virtue  of  originality  that  men  so  strain  after  is  not  newness,  as  they 
vainly  think  (there  is  nothing  new),  it  is  only  genuineness;  it  all  depends  on 
this  single  glorious  faculty  of  getting  to  the  spring  of  things,  and  working 
out  from  that;  it  is  the  coolness  and  clearness  and  deliciousness  of  the  water 
fresh  from  the  fountain-head,  opposed  to  the  thick,  hot,  unrefreshing  drainage 
from  otb^er  men's  meadows.— RUSKIN. 

SOME  years  ago  the  author  of  the  "Biographical  His- 
tory of  Philosophy,"  in  a  criticism  of  a  certain  pub- 
lic performer  in  London,  observed  that  one  of  his  most 
marked  qualities  was  the  priceless  one  of  frankness.  "  He 
accepts  no  sham.  He  pretends  to  admire  nothing  he  does 
not  in  his  soul  admire.  He  pretends  to  be  nothing  that 
he  is  not.  Beethoven  bores  him,  and  he  says  so:  how 
many  are  as  wearied  as  he,  but  dare  not  confess  it!  Oh, 
if  men  would  but  recognize  the  virtue  of  intrepidity!  If 
men  would  but  cease  lying  in  traditionary  formulas, — 
pretending  to  admire,  pretending  to  believe,  and  all  in 
sheer  respectability ! " 

Who  does  not  admire  the  quality  here  commended,  and 
yet  what  quality,  in  this  age  of  self-assertion,  of  sounding 
brass  and  tinkling  cymbal,  is  more  rare?  What  an 
amount  of  insincerity  there  is  in  human  speech!  In  how 


138  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

few  persons  is  the  tongue  an  index  to  the  heart!  What 
a  meaningless  conventionality  pervades  all  the  forms  of 
social  intercourse!  Everybody  knows*  that  "How  d'ye 
do?"  and  "Good  morning!"  are  parroted  in  most  cases 
without  a  thought  of  their  meaning,  or,  at  least,  without 
any  positive  interest  in  the  health  or  prosperity  of  the 
person  addressed;  we  begin  a  letter  to  one  whom  we 
secretly  detest  with  "  My  dear  sir,"  and  at  the  end  sub- 
scribe ourselves  his  "  obedient  servant,"  though  we  should 
resent  a  single  word  from  him  which  implied  a  belief  in 
our  sincerity,  or  bore  the  slightest  appearance  of  a  com- 
mand. But  not  to  dwell  upon  these  phrases,  the  hollow- 
ness  of  which  may  be  excused  on  the  ground  that  they 
sweeten  human  intercourse,  and  prevent  the  roughest 
men  from  degenerating  into  absolute  boors,  it  is  yet 
startling  to  reflect  how  large  a  proportion  of  human 
speech  is  the  veriest  cant.  That  men  should  use  words 
the  meaning  of  which  they  have  never  weighed  or  dis- 
criminated, is  bad  enough;  but  that  they  should  habitu- 
ally use  words  as  mere  counters  or  forms,  is  certainly 
worse.  There  is  hardly  a  class,  a  society,  or  a  relation  in 
which  man  can  be  placed  toward  man,  that  does  not  rail 
into  play  more  or  less  of  language  without  meaning. 
The  "  damnable  iteration  "  of  the  lawyer  in  a  declaration 
of  assault  and  battery  is  not  more  a  thing  of  form  than 
is  the  asseveration  of  one  petitioner  that  he  "  will  ever 
pray,"  etc.,  and  of  another  that  he  "  will  be  a  thousand 
times  obliged,"  if  you  will  grant  his  request.  Who  does 
not  know  to  what  an  amount  of  flummery  the  most  trifling 
kindness  done  by  one  person  to  another  often  gives  occa- 
sion on  both  sides?  The  one  racks  the  vocabulary  for 
words  and  phrases  in  which  to  express  his  pretended  grat- 


WORDS   WITHOUT   MEANING.  139 

itucle,  while,  in  fact,  he  is  only  keenly  humiliated  by 
having  to  accept  a  favor,  and  the  other  as  eloquently  dis- 
claims any  merit  in  the  grant,  which  he  really  grudged, 
and  will  never  think  of  without  feeling  that  he  made  a 
great  sacrifice. 

The  secret  feeling  of  many  a  "  public  benefactor " 
loudly  praised  by  the  newspapers,  was  finely  let  out  by 
Lord  Byron  when  he  sent  four  thousand  pounds  to  the 
Greeks,  and  privately  informed  a  friend  that  he  did  not 
think  he  could  well  get  off  for  less.  How  many  wedding 
and  other  presents,  and  subscriptions  to  testimonials  and  to 
public  enterprises,  are  made  by  those  who  secretly  curse 
the  occasion  that  exacts  them?  With  the  stereotyped 
"  thanks "  and  "  grateful  acknowledgments "  of  the  shop- 
keeper all  are  familiar,  as  they  are  with  "the  last,"  the 
"  positively  the  last,"  and  the  "  most  positively  the  very 
last "  appearances  of  the  dramatic  stars,  that  shine  for  five 
hundred  or  a  thousand  dollars  a  night.  As  nobody  is  de- 
ceived by  these  phrases,  it  seems  hypercritical  to  complain 
of  them,  and  yet  one  can  hardly  help  sympathizing  with 
the  country  editor  who  scolds  a  celebrated  musician  because 
he  is  now  making  farewell  tours  "  once  a  year,"  whereas 
formerly  he  made  them  "  only  once  in  five  years,"  Con- 
sidering the  sameness  of  shopkeepers'  acknowledgments, 
one  cannot  help  admiring  the  daring  originality  of  the 
Dutch  commercial  house  of  which  the  poet  Moore  tells,  that 
concluded  a  letter  thus:  "  Sugars  are  falling  more  and  more 
every  day;  not  so  the  respect  and  esteem  with  which  we 
are  your  obedient  servants."  The  cant  of  public  speakers 
is  so  familiar  to  the  public  that  it  is  looked  for  as  a  matter 
of  course.  When  a  man  is  called  on  to  address  a  public 
meeting,  it  is  understood  that  the  apology  for  his  "  lack  of 


140  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

preparation"  to  meet  the  demand  so  "unexpectedly"  made 
upon  him,  will  preface  the  "impromptu"  which  he  has 
spent  weeks  in  elaborating,  as  surely  as  the  inevitable 
"  This  is  so  unexpected  "  prefaces  the  reply  of  a  maiden  to 
the  long-awaited  proposal  of  marriage  from  her  lover. 

Literary  men  are  so  wont  to  weigh  their  words  that 
cant  in  them  seems  inexcusable;  yet  where  shall  we  find 
more  of  it  than  in  books,  magazines,  and  newspapers? 
How  many  reasons  are  assigned  by  authors  for  inflicting 
their  works  on  the  public,  other  than  the  true  one,  namely, 
the  pleasure  of  writing,  the  hope  of  a  little  distinction  or 
of  a  little  money!  How  many  writers  profess  to  welcome 
criticism,  which  they  nevertheless  ascribe  to  spite,  envy, 
jealousy,  if  it  is  unfavorable!  What  is  intrinsically  more 
deceptive  than  the  multitudinous  "WE"  in  which  every 
writer,  great  and  small,  hides  his  individuality, —  whether 
his  object  be,  as  Archdeacon  Hare  says,  "to  pass  himself 
off  unnoticed,  like  the  Irishman's  bad  guinea  in  a  handful 
of  halfpence,"  or  to  give  to  the  opinions  of  a  humble 
individual  the  weight  and  gravity  of  a  council?  "Who 

the is  We?"  exclaimed  the  elder  Kean  on  reading  a 

scathing  criticism  upon  his  "Hamlet";  and  the  question 
might  be  pertinently  asked  of  many  other  nominis  umbrae 
who  deliver  their  literary  judgments  as  oracularly  as  if 
they  were  lineal  descendants  of  Minos  or  Rhadamanthus. 
Who  can  estimate  the  diminution  of  power  and  influence 
that  would  result,  should  the  ten  thousand  editors  in  the 
land,  who  now  speak  with  a  voice  of  authority,  as  the  organs 
of  the  public  or  a  party,  come  down  from  their  thrones,  and 
exchange  the  regal  "we"  for  the  plebeian  and  egotistic 
"I"?  Who  is  "I"?  the  reader  might  exclaim,  in  tones 
even  more  contemptuous  than  Kean's.  The  truth  is,  "I" 


WORDS   WITHOUT   MEANING.  141 

is  a  nobody.  He  represents  only  himself.  He  may  be 
Smith  or  Jones, — the  merest  cipher.  He  may  weigh  but  a 
hundred  pounds,  and  still  less  morally  and  intellectually. 
He  may  be  diminutive  in  stature,  and  in  intellect  a  Tom 
Thumb.  Who  cares  what  such  a  pygmy  thinks?  But 
"  we  "  represents  a  multitude,  an  imposing  crowd,  a  mighty 
assembly,  a  congress,  or  a  jury  of  sages;  and  we  all  quail 
before  the  opinions  of  the  great  "  we."  As  a  writer  has 
well  said:  "'We  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  beef 
will  rise  to  starvation  prices '  is  a  sentiment  which,  when 
read  in  a  newspaper,  will  make  the  stoutest  stomach  trem- 
ble ;  but  substitute  an  '  I '  for  the  '  we,'  and  nobody  cares  a 
copper  for  the  opinion.  It  has  been  well  said  that  what 
terrified  Belshazzar  was  the  hand  on  the  wall,  because  he 
couldn't  see  to  whom  it  belonged;  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  the  editorial  '  we.'  It  is  the  mystery  in  which  it  is 
involved  that  invests  it  with  potency." 

The  history  of  literature  abounds  with  examples  of 
words  used  almost  without  meaning  by  whole  classes  of 
writers.  Who  does  not  know  how  feeble  and  hollow  Brit- 
ish poetry  had  become  in  the  eighteenth  century,  just 
before  the  appearance  of  Cowper?  Compelled  to  appear 
in  the  costume  of  the  court,  it  had  acquired  its  artificiality; 
and  dealing  with  the  conventional  manners  and  outside 
aspects  of  men,  it  had  almost  forsaken  the  human  heart, 
the  proper  haunt  and  main  region  of  song.  Instead  of 
being  the  vehicle  of  lofty  and  noble  sentiments,  it  had 
degenerated  into  a  mere  trick  of  art, —  a  hand-organ  opera- 
tion, in  which  one  man  could  grind  out  tunes  nearly  as 
well  as  another.  A  certain  monotonous  smoothness,  a 
perpetually  recurring  assortment  of  images,  had  become 
so  much  the  traditional  property  of  the  versifiers,  that 


142  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

one  could  set  himself  up  in  the  business  as  a  shopkeeper 
might  supply  himself  with  his  stock-in-trade.  The  style 
that  prevailed  has  been  aptly  termed  by  the  poet  Lowell 
"  the  Dick  Swiveller  style."  As  Dick  always  called  the 
wine  "  rosy,"  sleep  "  balmy,"  so  did  these  correct  gentlemen 
always  employ  a  glib  epithet  or  a  diffuse  periphrasis  to 
express  the  commonest  ideas.  The  sun  was  never  called 
by  his  plain,  almanac  name,  but  always  "Phcebus,"  or  "the 
orb  of  day."  The  moon  was  known  only  as  "Cynthia." 
"  Diana,"  or  "  the  refulgent  lamp  of  night."  Naiads  were 
as  plenty  in  every  stream  as  trout  or  pickerel.  If  these 
poets  wished  to  say  tea,  they  would  write 

"Of  China's  herb  the  infusion  hot  and  mild." 

Coffee  would  be  nothing  less  than 

"The  fragrant  juice  of  Mocha's  kernel  gray." 

A  boot  would  be  raised  to 

"  The  shining  leather  that  the  leg  encased."     • 

All  women  in  that  golden  age  were  "nymphs";  "dryads" 
were  as  common  as  birds;  carriages  were  ''harnessed 
pomps " ;  houses,  humble  or  stately  "  piles " ;  and  not  a 
wind  could  blow,  whether  the  sweet  South,  or  "  Boreas, 
Cecias,  or  Argestes  loud,"  but  it  was  "  a  gentle  zephyr." 
Pope  satirized  this  conventional  language  in  the  well- 
known  lines: 

"  While  they  ring  round  the  same  unvaried  chimes, 
With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes: 
Where'er  you  find  'the  cooling  western  breeze,' 
In  the  next  Hue  'it  whispers  through  the  trees': 
If  crystal  streams  'with  pleasing  murmurs  creep.' 
The  reader's  threatened,  not  in  vain,  with  '  sleep.'  " 

Yet  Pope  himself  was  addicted  to  these  circumlocutions 
and  to  threadbare  mythological  allusions,  quite  as  much 
as  the  small  wits  whom  he  ridiculed.  The  manly  genius 


WORDS    WITHOUT   MEANING.  143 

of  Cowper  broke  through  these  traditionary  fetters,  and 
relieved  poetry  from  the  spell  in  which  Pope  and  his 
imitators  had  bound  its  phraseology  and  rhythm.  Ex- 
pressing his  contempt  for  the  "  creamy  smoothness "  of 
such  verse,  in  which  sentiment  was  so  often 

"  sacrificed  to  sound, 
And  tmth  cut  short  to  make  a  period  round,'' 

he  cried: 

'•  Give  me  the  line  that  ploughs  its  stately  course. 
Like  a  proud  swan,  conquering  the  stream  by  force; 
That,  like  some  cottage  brauty,  strikes  the  heart, 
Quite  unindebted  to  the  tricks  of  art." 

The  charm  of  Cowper's  letters,  acknowledged  by  all 
competent  judges  to  be  the  best  in  the  English  language, 
lies  in  the  simplicity  and  naturalness, —  the  freedom  from 
affectation, —  by  which  they  are  uniformly  characterized. 
Contrasting  them  with  those  of  Wilberforce,  Dr.  Andrew 
Combe  observes  in  a  letter  to  a  friend:  "Cowper's  lexers, 
to  my  mind,  do  far  more  to  excite  a  deep  sense  of  religion, 
than  all  the  labored  efforts  of  Wilberforce.  The  one  gives 
expression  simply  and  naturally  to  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings which  spring  up  spontaneously  as  he  writes.  The 
other  forces  in  the  one  topic  in  all  his  letters,  and  lashes 
himself  up  to  a  due  fervor  of  expression,  whether  the  mind 
wills  or  not.  On  one  occasion  Wilberforce  dispatched  a 
very  hurried  letter  on  Saturday  night,  without  any  reli- 
gious expressions  in  it.  In  the  night-time  his  conscience 
troubled  him  so  much  for  the  omission,  that  he  could  not 
rest  till  he  sat  down  next  morning  and  wrote  a  second  with 
the  piety,  and  apologizing  for  his  involuntary  departure 
from  his  rule!  Only  think  what  a  perversion  of  a  good 
principle  this  was!" 

It  is  in  the  conduct  of  political  affairs  that  the  class  of 


144  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

words  of  which  we  have  spoken  are  used  most  frequently. 
Sir  Henry  Wotton  long  since  defined  an  ambassador  as  a 
gentleman  sent  abroad  to  lie  for  the  benefit  of  his  country. 
In  Europe,  so  indissolubly  has  diplomacy'  been  associated 
with  trickery,  that  it  is  said  Talleyrand's  wonderful  success 
with  the  representatives  of  foreign  courts  was  owing  largely 
to  his  frankness  and  fair  dealing, —  nobody  believing  it  pos- 
sible that  he  was  striving  for  that  for  which  he  seemed  to 
be  striving.  The  plain,  open,  straightforward  way  in  which 
he  spoke  of  and  dealt  with  all  public  matters,  completely 
puzzled  the  vulgar  minds,  that  could  not  dissociate  from 
diplomacy  the  mysterious  devices  that  distinguish  the  hack 
from  the  true  diplomatist.  In  the  titles  and  styles  of 
address  used  by  Kings  and  Emperors,  we  have  examples  of 
cant  in  its  most  meaningless  forms.  One  sovereign  is  his 
Most  Christian  Majesty,  another  Defender  of  the  Faith,  etc. 
A  monarch,  forced  by  public  opinion  to  issue  a  commission 
of  inquiry,  addresses  all  the  members  of  it  as  his  well- 
beloved,  though  in  his  heart  he  detests  them. 

Everybody  knows  that  George  I.  of  England  obtained 
his  crown,  not  by  hereditary  title,  but  by  an  act  of  Parlia- 
ment; yet,  in  his  very  first  speech  to  that  body,  he  had  the 
effrontery  to  speak  of  ascending  "  the  throne  of  his  an- 
cestors." Well  might  Henry  Luttrell  exclaim: 

"O  that  in  England  there  might  be 
A  duty  on  hypocrisy! 
A  tax  on  humbug,  an  excise 
On  solemn  plausibilities, 
A  stamp  on  everything  that  canted! 
No  millions  more,  if  these  were  granted, 
Henceforward  would  be  raised  or  wanted." 

So  an  American  politician,  who,  by  caucus-packing,  "  wire- 
pulling," and  perhaps  bribery,  has  contrived  to  get  elected 


WORDS    WITHOUT   MEANING.  145 

to  a  State  legislature  or  to  Congress,  will  publicly  thank 
his  fellow-citizens  for  having  sent  him  there  "  by  their 
voluntary,  unbiased  suffrages."  When  the  patriot,  Patkul, 
was  surrendered  to  the  vengeance  of  Charles  XII.  of  Swe- 
den, the  following  sentence  was  read  over  to  him:  "It  is 
hereby  made  known  to  be  the  order  of  his  Majesty,  our 
most  iiii-irifnl  sovereign,  that  this  man,  who  is  a  traitor  to 
his  country,  be  broken  on  the  wheel  and  quartered,"  etc. 
"What  mercy!  "  exclaimed  the  poor  criminal.  It  was  with 
the  same  mockery  of  benevolence  that  the  Holy  Inquisition 
was  wont,  when  condemning  a  heretic  to  the  torture,  to 
express  the  tenderest  concern  for  his  temporal  and  eternal 
welfare.  One  of  the  most  offensive  forms  of  cant  is  the 
profession  of  extreme  humility  by  men  who  are  full  of 
pride  and  arrogance.  The  haughtiest  of  all  the  Koman 
Pontiffs  styled  himself  "the  servant  of  the  servants  of 
God,"  at  the  very  time  when  he  humiliated  the  Emperor  of 
Germany  by  making  him  wait  five  days  barefoot  in  his 
ante-chamber  in  the  depth  of  winter,  and  expected  all  the 
Kings  of  Europe,  when  in  his  presence,  to  kiss  his  toe  or 
hold  his  stirrup.  Catherine  of  Russia  was  always  mouthing 
the  language  of  piety  and  benevolence,  especially  when 
about  to  wage  war  or  do  some  rascally  deed.  Louis  the 
Fourteenth's  paroxysms  of  repentance  and  devotion  were 
always  the  occasion  for  fresh  outrages  upon  the  Huguenots; 
and  Napoleon  was  always  prating  of  his  love  of  peace, 
and  of  being  compelled  to  fight  by  his  quarrelsome  neigh- 
bors. While  the  French  revolutionists  were  shouting 
"Liberty.  Equality,  and  Fraternity!"  men  were  executed 
in  Paris  without  law  and  against  law.  and  heads  fell  by 
cart-loads  from  the  knife  of  the  guillotine.  The  favorite 
amusement  of  Couthon,  one  of  the  deadliest  of  Robes- 
7 


146  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

pierre's  fellow  cut-throats,  was  the  rearing  of  doves.  The 
contemplation  of  their  innocence,  he  said,  made  the  charm 
of  his  existence  in  consoling  him  for  the  wickedness  of 
men.  Even  when  he  had  reached  the  height  of  his  "  bad 
preeminence"  as  a  terrorist,  he  was  carried  to  the  National 
Assembly  or  the  Jacobin  Club  fondling  little  lapdogs,  which 
he  nestled  in  his  bosom.  It  is  told  of  one  of  his  bloody 
compatriots,  who  was  as  fatal  to  men  and  as  fond  of  dogs 
as  himself,  that  when  a  distracted  wife,  who  had  pleaded 
to  him  in  vain  for  her  husband's  life,  in  retiring  from  his 
presence,  chanced  to  tread  on  his  favorite  spaniel's  tail,  he 
cried  out,  "Good  heavens,  Madame!  have  you  no  humanity?'"1 
"My  children,"  said  Dr.  Johnson,  "clear  your  minds  of 
cant."  If  professional  politicians  should  follow  this  advice, 
many  of  them  would  be  likely  to  find  their  occupation 
clean  gone.  At  elections  they  are  so  wont  to  simulate  the 
sentiments  and  language  of  patriotism, — to  pretend  a  zeal 
for  this,  an  indignation  for  that,  and  a  horror  for  another 
thing,  about  which  they  are  known  to  be  comparatively  in- 
different, as  if  any  flummery  might  be  crammed  down  the 
throats  of  the  people, —  that  the  voters  whom  the  old  party 
hacks  fancy  they  are  gulling  are  simply  laughing  in  their 
sleeves  at  their  transparent  attempts  at  deception.  Daniel 
O'Connell,  the  popular  Irish  orator,  is  said  to  have  had 
a  large  vocabulary  of  stockxpolitical  phrases,  upon  which  he 
rang  the  changes  with  magical  effect.  He  could  whine, 
and  wheedle,  and  wink  with  one  eye,  while  he  wept  with 
the  other;  and  if  his  flow  of  oratory  was  ever  in  danger  of 
halting,  he  had  always  at  hand  certain  stereotyped  catch- 
words, such  as  his  "  own  green  isle,"  his  "  Irish  heart,"  his 
"head  upon  the  block,"  his  "hereditary  bondsmen,  know 
ye  not,"  etc.,  which  never  failed  him  in  any  emergency. 


WOKDS   WITHOUT   MEANING.  147 

Common,  however,  as  are  meaningless  phrases  on  the 
stump  and  the  platform,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  they  are 
hardly  less  so  in  the  meeting-house,  and  there  they  are 
doubly  offensive,  if  not  unpardonable.  It  is  a  striking 
remark  of  Coleridge  that  truths,  of  all  others  the  most 
awful  and  interesting,  are  too  often  considered  so  true 
that  they  lose  all  the  power  of  truth,  and  lie  bed-ridden 
in  the  dormitory  of  the  soul,  side  by  side  with  the  most 
despised  and  exploded  errors.  Continual  handling  wears 
off  the  beauty  and  significance  of  words,  and  it  is  only 
by  a  distinct  effort  of  the  mind  that  we  can  restore  their 
full  meaning.  "  Hence  it  is  that  the  traditional  maxims 
of  old  experience,  though  seldom  questioned,  have  often 
so  little  effect  on  the  conduct  of  life,  because  their  mean- 
ing is  never,  by  most  persons,  really  felt,  until  personal 
experience  has  brought  it  home.  And  thus,  also,  it  is 
that  so  many  doctrines  of  religion,  ethics,  and  even  poli- 
tics, so  full  of  meaning  and  reality  to  first  converts,  have 
manifested  a  tendency  to  degenerate  rapidly  into  lifeless 
dogmas,  which  tendency  all  the  efforts  of  an  education 
expressly  and  skilfully  directed  to  keeping  the  meaning 
alive  are  barely  found  sufficient  to  counteract."* 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  many  a  man  whose  life 
is  thoroughly  selfish  cheats  himself  into  the  belief  that  he 
is  pious  because  he  parrots  with  ease  the  phrases  of  piety 
and  orthodoxy.  Who  is  not  familiar  with  scores  of 
such  pet  phrases  and  cant  terms,  which  are  repeated  at 
this  day  apparently  without  a  thought  of  their  mean- 
ing? Who  ever  attended  a  missionary  meeting  without 
hearing  "the  Macedonian  cry,"  and  an  account  of  some 
"little  interest,"  and  "fields  white  for  the  harvest"? 

*  Mill's  "Logic." 


148  WORDS  ;    THEIR    USE   AND    ABUSE. 

Who  is  not  weary  of  the  ding-dong  of  "^our  Zion "  and 
the  solecism  of  "  in  our  midst " ;  and  who  does  not  long 
lor  a  verbal  millennium  when  Christians  shall  no  longer 
"feel  to  take"  and  "grant  to  give"?  "How  much  I 
regret,"  says  Coleridge,  "that  so  many  religious  persons 
of  the  present  day  think  it  necessary  to  adopt  a  certain 
cant  of  manner  and  phraseology  as  a  token  to  each 
other!  They  must  improve  this  and  that  text,  and  they 
must  do  so  and  so  in  a  prayerful  way;  and  so  on.  A 
young  lady  urged  upon  me,  the  other  day,  that  such  and 
such  feelings  were  the  marrow  of  all  religion;  upon  which 
I  recommended  her  to  try  to  walk  to  London  on  her 
marrow-bones  only."  Mr.  Spurgeon,  in  his  "Lectures  to 
Students,"  remarks  that  "'the  poor  unworthy  dust'  is  nn 
epithet  generally  applied  to  themselves  by  the  proudest 
men  in  the  congregation,  and  not  seldom  by  the  most  mon- 
eyed and  groveling;  in  which  case  the  last  words  are  not 
so  very  inappropriate.  We  have  heard  of  a  good  man 
who,  in  pleading  for  his  children  and  grandchildren,  was 
so  completely  beclouded  in  the  blinding  influence  of  this 
expression,  that  he  exclaimed,  '  0  Lord,  save  thy  dust, 
and  thy  dust's  dust,  and  thy  dust's  dust's  dust.'  When 
Abraham  said,  'I  have  taken  upon  me  to  speak  unto  the 
Lord,  which  am  but  dust  and  ashes,'  the  utterance  was 
forcible  and  expressive;  but  in  its  misquoted,  perverted, 
and  abused  form,  the  sooner  it  is  consigned  to  its  own 
element  the  better."  Many  persons  have  very  erroneous 
ideas  of  what  constitutes  religious  conversation.  That  is 
not  necessarily  religious  talk  which  is  interlarded  with 
religious  phrases,  or  which  is  solely  about  divine  things: 
but  that  which  is  permeated  with  religious  feeling,  which 
is  full  of  truth,  reverence,  and  love,  whatever  the  theme 


WORDS   WITHOUT   MEANING.  149 

may  be.  Who  has  not  heard  some  men  talk  of  the  most 
worldly  things  in  a  way  that  made  the  hearer  feel  the 
electric  current  of  spirituality  playing  through  their  words, 
and  uplifting  his  whole  spiritual  being?  And  who  has 
not  heard  other  persons  talk  about  the  divinest  things  in 
so  dry,  formal,  and  soulless  a  way  that  their  words  seemed 
a  profanation,  and  chilled  him  to  the  core?  It  is  almost  a 
justification  of  slang  that  it  is  generally  an  effort  to  obtain 
relief  from  words  worn  bare  by  the  use  of  persons  who  put 
neither  knowledge  nor  feeling  into  them,  and  which  seem 
incapable  of  expressing  anything  real. 

When  Lady  Townsend  was  asked  if  Whitefield  had  re- 
canted, she  replied,  "No;  he  has  only  canted.'"  Often, 
when  there  is  no  deliberate  hypocrisy,  good  men  use  lan- 
guage so  exaggerated  and  unreal  as  to  do  more  harm 
than  the  grossest  worldliness.  We  have  often,  in  thinking 
upon  this  subject,  called  to  mind  a  saying  of  Dr.  Sharp,  of 
Boston,  a  Baptist  preacher,  who  was  a  hater  of  all  cant 

and  shams.     "  There's  Dr. ,"  said  he,  about  the  time 

of  the  first  meeting  of  the  Evangelical  Alliance,  "  who 
went  all  the  way  to  Europe  to  talk  up  brotherly  love.  If 
he  should  meet  a  poor  Baptist  minister  in  the  street,  he 
wouldn't  speak  to  him."  Nothing  is  cheaper  than  pious 
or  benevolent  talk.  A  great  many  men  would  be  positive 
forces  of  goodness  in  the  world,  if  they  did  not  let  all  their 
principles  and  enthusiasm  escape  in  words.  They  are  like 
locomotives  which  let  off  so  much  steam  through  the  escape 
valves,  that,  though  they  fill  the  air  with  noise,  they  have 
not  power  enough  left  to  move  the  train.  There  is  hardly 
anything  which  so  fritters  spiritual  energy  as  talk  without 
deeds.  "  The  fluent  boaster  is  not  the  man  who  is  steadiest 
before  the  enemy ;  it  is  well  said  to  him  that  his  courage  is 


150  WOltDS;    THEIR   USE  AND  ABUSE. 

better  kept  till  it  is  wanted.  Loud  utterances  of  virtuous 
indignation  against  evil  from  the  platform,  or  in  the 
drawing-room,  do  not  characterize  the  spiritual  giant;  so 
much  indignation  as  is  expressed,  has  found  vent;  it  is 
wasted;  is  taken  away  from  the  work  of  coping  with  evil; 
the  man  has  so  much  less  left.  And  hence  he  who  restrains 
that  love  of  talk,  lays  up  a  fund  of  spiritual  strength."* 
It  is  said  that  Pambos,  an  illiterate  saint  of  the  middle 
ages,  being  unable  to  read,  came  to  some  one  to  be  taught  a 
psalm.  Having  learned  the  simple  verse,  "  I  said,  I  will  take 
heed  to  my  ways,  that  I  offend  not  with  my  tongue,"  he 
went  away,  saying  that  was  enough  if  it  was  practically 
acquired.  When  asked  six  months,  and  again  many  years 
after,  why  he  did  not  come  to  learn  another  verse,  he 
answered  that  he  had  never  been  able  truly  to  master  this. 
A  man  may  have  a  heart  overflowing  with  love  and  sym- 
pathy, even  though  he  is  not  in  the  habit  of  exhibiting  on 
his  cards  "  J.  Good  Soul,  Philanthropist,"  and  was  never 
known  to  unfold  his  cambric  handkerchief  with  the  words, 
"  Let  us  weep."  On  the  other  hand,  nothing  is  easier  than 
to  use  a  set  phraseology  without  attaching  to  it  any  clear 
and  definite  meaning, —  to  cheat  one's  self  with  the  sem- 
blance of  thought  or  feeling,  when  no  thought  or  feeling 
exists.  It  has  been  truly  said  that  when  good  men  who 
have  no  deep  religious  fervor  use  fervent  language,  which 
they  have  caught  from  others,  or  which  was  the  natural 
expression  of  what  they  felt  in  other  and  better  years, — 
above  all,  when  they  employ  on  mean  and  trivial  occasions 
expressions  which  have  been  forged  in  the  fires  of  affliction 
and  hammered  out  in  the  shock  of  conflict, —  they  cannot 
easily  imagine  what  a  disastrous  impression  they  produce 

*  Sermon  by  Rev.  F.  W.  Robertson. 


WORDS   WITHOUT   MEANING.  151 

on  keen  and  discriminating  minds.  The  cheat  is  at  once 
detected,  and  the  hasty  inference  is  drawn  that  all  expres- 
sions of  religious  earnestness  are  affected  and  artificial. 
The  honest  and  irrepressible  utterance  of  strong  convic- 
tion and  deep  emotion  commands  respect;  but  intense 
words  should  never  be  used  when  the  religious  life  is  not 
intense.  "  Costing  little,  words  are  given  prodigally,  and 
sacrificial  acts  must  toil  for  years  to  cover  the  space  which 
a  single  fervid  promise  has  stretched  itself  over.  No  won- 
der that  the  slow  acts  are  superseded  by  the  available 
words,  the  weighty  bullion  by  the  current  paper-money.  If 
I  have  conveyed  all  I  feel  by  language,  I  am  tempted  to 
fancy,  by  the  relief  experienced,  that  feeling  has  attained 
its  end  and  realized  itself.  Farewell,  then,  to  the  toil  of  the 
'  daily  sacrifice ! '  Devotion  has  found  for  itself  a  vent  in 
words."* 

Art,  as  well  as  literature,  politics,  and  religion,  has  its 
cant,  which  is  as  offensive  as  any  of  its  other  forms. 
When  Rossini  was  asked  why  he  had  ceased  attending 
the  opera  in  Paris,  he  replied,  "  I  am  embarrassed  at 
listening  to  music  with  Frenchmen.  In  Italy  or  Ger- 
many, I  am  sitting  quietly  in  the  pit,  and  on  each  side 
of  me  is  a  man,  shabbily  dressed,  but  who  feels  the 
music  as  I  do;  in  Paris  I  have  on  each  side  of  me  a 
fine  gentleman  in  straw-colored  gloves,  who  explains  to 
me  all  I  feel,  but  who  feels  nothing.  All  he  says  is  very 
clever,  indeed,  and  it  is  often  very  true;  but  it  takes  the 
gloss  off  my  own  impression, —  if  I  have  any." 

"  Life  and  Letters  of  P.  W.  Robertson." 


1.V2  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

SOME   ABUSES   OF   WORDS. 

He  that  hath  knowledge  spareth  his  words.—  PROVERBS  xvn.  27. 

Learn  the  value  of  a  man's  words  and  expressions,  and  you  know  him.  .  . 
He  who  has  a  superlative  for  everything,  wants  a  measure  for  the  great  or 
small.—  LAVATER. 

Words  are  women;  deeds  are  men. —  GEORGE  HERBERT. 

He  that  uses  many  words  for  the  explaining  of  any  subject,  doth,  like  the 
cuttle-fish,  hide  himself  for  the  most  part  in  his  own  ink. —  RAT. 

rTIHE  old  Roman  poet  Ennius  was  so  proud  of  knowing 
-L  three  languages  that  he  used  to  declare  that  he  had 
three  hearts.  The  Emperor  Charles  V.  expressed  himself 
still  more  strongly,  and  declared  that  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  languages  a  man  knows,  is  he  more  of  a  man. 
According  to  this  theory,  Cardinal  Mezzofanti,  who  underr 
stood  one  hundred  and  fourteen  languages,  and  spoke 
thirty  with  rare  excellence,  must  have  been  many  men 
condensed  into  one.  Of  all  the  human  polyglots  in  ancient 
or  modern  times,  he  had  perhaps  the  greatest  knowledge  of 
words.  Yet,  with  all  his  marvellous  linguistic  knowledge, 
he  was  a  mere  prodigy  or  freak  of  nature,  and,  it  has  been 
well  observed,  scarcely  deserves  a  higher  place  in  the  Pan- 
theon of  intellect  than  a  blindfold  chess-player  or  a  cal- 
culating boy.  Talking  foreign  languages  with  a  fluency 
and  accuracy  which  caused  strangers  to  mistake  him  for 
a  compatriot,  he  attempted  no  work  of  utility, —  left  no 
trace  of  his  colossal  powers;  and  therefore,  in  contemplat- 
ing them,  we  can  but  wonder  at  his  gifts,  as  we  wonder 


SOME   ABUSES   OF    WOKDS.  153 

at  the  Belgian  giant  or  a  five-legged  lamb.  In  allusion 
to  his  hyperbolical  acquisitions,  De  Quincey  suggests  that 
the  following  would  be  an  appropriate  epitaph  for  his 
eminence:  "  Here  lies  a  man  who,  in  the  act  of  dying,  com- 
mitted a  robbery, —  absconding  from  his  fellow-creatures 
with  a  valuable  polyglot  dictionary.''  Enormous,  however, 
as  were  the  linguistic  acquisitions  of  Mezzofanti,  no  man 
was  ever  less  vain  of  his  acquirements, —  priding  himself, 
as  he  did,  less  upon  his  attainments  than  most  persons 
upon  a  smattering  of  a  single  tongue.  "  What  am  I," 
said  he  to  a  visitor,  "but  an  ill-bound  dictionary?"  The 
saying  of  Catherine  de  Medicis  is  too  often  suggested  by 
such  prodigies  of  linguistic  acquisition.  When  told  that 
Scaliger  understood  twenty  different  languages  —  "That's 
twenty  words  for  one  idea,"  said  she;  "I  had  rather  have 
twenty  ideas  for  one  word."  In  this  reply  she  foreshad- 
owed the  great  error  of  modern  scholarship,  which  is  too 
often  made  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  of  life,  when  its  only 
relation  to  it  should  be  that  of  a  graceful  handmaid.  The 
story  of  the  scholar  who,  dying,  regretted  at  the  end  of 
his  career  that  he  had  not  concentrated  all  his  energies 
upon  the  dative  case,  only  burlesques  a*n  actual  fact.  The 
educated  man  is  too  often  one  who  knows  more  of  lan- 
guage than  of  idea, —  more  of  the  husk  than  of  the  kernel. 
—  more  of  the  vehicle  than  of  the  substance  it  bears.  He 
has  got  together  a  heap  of  symbols, —  of  mere  counters, — 
with  which  he  feels  himself  to  be  an  intellectual  Roths- 
child; but  of  the  substance  of  these  shadows,  the  sterling 
gold  of  intellect,  coin  current  throughout  the  realm,  he 
has  not  an  eagle.  All  his  wealth  is  in  paper, —  paper  like 
bad  scrip,  marked  with  a  high  nominal  amount,  but  use- 
less in  exchange  and  repudiated  in  real  traffic.  The  great 


154  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

scholar  is  often  an  intellectual  miser,  who  expends  the  spir- 
itual energy  that  might  make  him  a  hero,  upon  the  detec- 
tion of  a  wrong  dot,  a  false  syllable,  or  an  inaccurate  word. 

In  this  country,  where  fluency  of  speech  is  vouchsafed 
in  so  large  a  measure  to  the  people,  and  every  third  man  is 
an  orator,  it  is  easier  to  find  persons  with  the  twenty  words 
for  one  idea,  than  persons  with  twenty  ideas  for  one  word. 
Of  all  the  peoples  on  the  globe,  except  perhaps  the  Irish, 
Americans  are  the  most  spendthrift  of  language.  Not 
only  in  our  court-houses  and  representative  halls,  but 
everywhere,  we  are  literally  deluged  with  words, —  words, — 
words.  Everybody  seems  born  to  make  long  speeches, 
as  the  sparks  to  fly  upward.  The  Aristotelian  theory  that 
Nature  abhors  a  vacuum  appears  to  be  a  universal  belief, 
and  all  are  laboring  to  fill  up  the  realms  of  space  with 
"mouthfuls  of  spoken  wind."  The  quantity  of  breath 
that  is  wasted  at  our  public  meetings, —  religious,  political, 
philanthropic,  and  literary, —  is  incalculable.  Hardly  a 
railroad  or  a  canal  is  opened,  but  the  occasion  is  seized 
on  as  a  chance  for  speeches  of  "  learned  length  and  thun- 
dering sound  " ;  and  even  a  new  hotel  cannot  throw  open 
its  doors  without  an  amount  of  breath  being  expended, 
sufficient,  if  economically  used,  to  waft  a  boat  across  a 
small  Jake. 

One  is  struck,  in  reading  the  "  thrilling "  addresses  on 
various  occasions,  which  are  said  to  have  "  chained  as  with 
hooks  of  steel  the  attention  of  thousands,"  and  which 
confer  on  their  authors  "  immortal  reputations "  that  die 
within  a  year,  to  see  what  tasteless  word-piling  passes  with 
many  for  eloquence.  The  advice  given  in  Racine's 
"  Plaideurs"  by  an  ear-tortured  judge  to  a  long-winded 
lawyer,  "  to  skip  to  the  deluge,"  might  wisely  be  repeated 


SOME    ABUSES    OF   WORDS.  155 

to  our  thousand  Ciceros  and  Chathams.  The  Baconian 
art  of  condensation  seems  nearly  obsolete.  Many  of  our 
orators  are  forever  breaking  butterflies  on  a  wheel, — 
raising  oceans  to  drown  a  fly, —  loading  cannon  to  shoot 
at  humming-birds.  Thought  and  expression  are  sup- 
planted by  lungs  and  the  dictionary.  Instead  of  great 
thoughts  couched  in  a  few  close,  home,  significant  sen- 
tences,—  the  value  of  a  thousand  pounds  sterling  of 
sense  concentrated  into  a  cut  and  polished  diamond, — 
we  have  a  mass  of  verbiage,  delivered  with  a  pompous 
elocution.  Instead  of  ideas  brought  before  us,  as  South 
expresses  it,  like  water  in  a  well,  where  you  have  fulness  in 
a  little  compass,  we  have  the  same  "  carried  out  into  many 
petty,  creeping  rivulets,  with  length  and  shallowness 
together." 

It  is  in  our  legislative  bodies  that  this  evil  has  reached 
the  highest  climax.  A  member  may  have  a  thought  or  a 
fact  which  may  settle  a  question ;  but  if  it  may  be  couched 
in  a  sentence  or  two,  he  thinks  it  not  worth  delivering. 
Unless  he  can  wire-draw  it  into  a  two-hours  speech,  or  at 
least  accompany  it  with  some  needless  verbiage  to  plump 
it  out  in  the  report,  he  will  sit  stock-still,  and  leave  the  floor 
to  men  who  have  fewer  ideas  and  more  words  at  command. 
The  public  mind,  too,  revolts  sometimes  against  nourish- 
ment in  highly  concentrated  forms; — it  requires  bulk  as 
well  as  nutriment,  just  "  as  hay  is  given  to  horses  as  well  as 
corn,  to  distend  the  stomach,  and  enable  it  to  act  with  its 
full  powers."  Then,  again, —  and  this,  perhaps,  is  one  of 
the  main  causes  of  long-winded  speeches, —  there  is  a  sort 
of  reverence  entertained  for  a  man  who  can  "spout"  two 
or  three  hours  on  the  stretch ;  and  the  wonder  is  heightened, 
if  he  does  it  without  making  a  fool  of  himself.  Nothing, 


156  WORDS;    THEIR    USE   AND   ABUSK. 

however,  can  be  more  absurd  than  to  regard  mere  volubility 
as  a  proof  of  intellectual  power.  So  far  is  this  from 
being  the  case  that  it  may  be  doubted  whether  any  large- 
thoughted  man,  who  was  accustomed  to  grapple  with  the 
great  problems  of  life  and  society,  ever  found  it  easy  upon 
the  rostrum  to  deliver  his  thoughts  with  fluency  and 
grace. 

Bruce,  the  traveler,  long  ago  remarked  of  the  Abyssin- 
ians,  that  "they  are  all  orators,  as,"  he  adds,  "  are  most  bar- 
barians.'' It  is  often  said  of  such  tonguey  men  that  they 
have  "  a  great  command  of  language,"  when  the  simple 
fact  is  that  language  has  a  great  command  of  them.  As 
Whately  says,  they  have  the  same  command  of  language 
that  a  man  has  of  a  horse  that  runs  away  with  him. 
The  greatest  orators  of  ancient  and  modern  times  have 
been  remarkable  for  their  economy  of  words.  Demosthenes, 
when  he 

"Shook  the  arsenal,  and  fulminecl  over  Greece 
To  Macedon  and  Artaxerxes'  throne," 

rarely  spoke  over  thirty  minutes,  and  Cicero  took  even  less 
time  to  blast  Catiline  with  his  lightnings.  There  are  some 
of  the  Greek  orator's  speeches  which  were  spoken,  as  they 
may  now  be  read,  with  sufficient  slowness  and  distinctness, 
in  less  than  half  an  hour ;  yet  they  are  the  effusions  of  that 
rapid  and  mighty  genius  the  effect  of  whose  words  the 
ancients  exhausted  their  language  in  describing;  which 
they  could  adequately  describe  only  by  comparing  it  to  the 
workings  of  the  most  subtle  and  powerful  agents  of 
nature, —  the  ungovernable  torrent,  the  resistless  thunder. 
Chatham  was  often  briefer  still,  and  Mirabeau,  the  mast«'r- 
spirit  of  the  French  tribune,  condensed  his  thunders  into 
twenty  minutes. 


SOME   ABUSES   OP   WORDS.  157 

It  is  said  that  not  one  of  the  three  leading  members  of 
the  convention  that  formed  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  spoke,  in  the  debates  upon  it,  over  twenty  minutes. 
Alexander  Hamilton  was  reckoned  one  of  the  most  diffuse 
speakers  of  his  day.;  yet  he  did  not  occupy  more  than  two 
hours  and  a  half  in  his  longest  arguments  at  the  bar,  nor 
did  his  rival,  Aaron  Burr,  occupy  over  half  that  time.  A 
judge  who  was  intimately  acquainted  with  Burr  and  his 
practice,  declares  that  he'  repeatedly  and  successfully  dis- 
posed of  cases  involving  a  large  amount  of  property  in 
half  an  hour.  "  Indeed,"  says  he,  "  on  one  occasion  he 
talked  to  the  jury  seven  minutes  in  such  a  manner,  that  it 
took  me.  on  the  bench,  half  an  hour  to  straighten  them 
out."  He  adds:  "I  once  asked  him,  'Colonel  Burr,  why 
cannot  lawyers  always  save  the  time  and  spare  the  patience 
of  the  court  and  jury  by  dwelling  only  on  the  important 
points  in  their  cases  ? '  to  which  Burr  replied,  '  Sir,  you 
demand  the  greatest  faculty  of  the  human  mind,  selection.' " 
To  these  examples  we  may  add  that  of  a  great  English  ad- 
vocate. "  I  asked  Sir  James  Scarlett,"  says  Buxton,  "  what 
was  the  secret  of  his  preeminent  success  as  an  advocate. 
He  replied  that  he  took  care  to  press  home  the  one  principal 
point  of  the  case,  without  paying  much  regard  to  the 
others.  He  also  said  that  he  knew  the  secret  of  being 
short.  '  I  find.'  said  he,  '  that  when  I  exceed  half  an  hour, 
I  am  always  doing  mischief  to  my  client.  If  I  drive  into 
the  heads  of  the  jury  unimportant  matter,  I  drive  out 
matter  more  important  that  I  had  previously  lodged 
there.' " 

Joubert,  a  French  author,  cultivated  verbal  economy  to 
such  an  extreme  that  he  tried  almost  to  do  without  words. 
"If  there  is  a  man  on  earth,"  said  he,  "tormented  by  the 


158  WORDS;  TUEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

cursed  desire  to  get  a  whole  book  into  a  page,  a  whole  page 
into  a  phrase,  and  this  phrase  into  one  word, —  that  man  is 
myself."  The  ambition  of  many  American  speakers,  and 
not  a  few  writers,  is  apparently  the  reverse  of  this.  We 
do  not  seem  to  know  that  in  many  cases,  as  Hesiod  says,  a 
half  is  more  than  the  whole ;  and  that  a  speech  or  a  treatise 
hammered  out  painfully  in  every  part,  is  often  of  less  value 
than  a  few  bright  links,  suggestive  of  the  entire  chain  of 
thought.  Who  wants  to  swallow  a  whole  ox,  in  order  to 
get  at  the  tenderloin? 

Prolixity,  it  has  been  well  said,  is  more  offensive  now 
than  it  once  was,  because  men  think  more  rapidly.  They 
are  not  more  thoughtful  than  their  ancestors,  but  they 
are  more  vivid,  direct,  and  animated  in  their  thinking. 
They  are  more  impatient,  therefore,  of  longwindedness, — 
of  a  loose  arrangement, —  and  of  a  heavy,  dragging  move- 
ment in  the  presentation  of  truth.  "A  century  ago  men 
would  listen  to  speeches  and  sermons, —  to  divisions  and 
subdivisions, —  that  now  would  be  regarded  as  utterly  intol- 
erable. As  the  human  body  is  whisked  through  space  at 
the  rate  of  a  mile  a  minute,  so  the  human  mind  travels 
with  an  equally  accelerated  pace.  Mental  operations  are 
on  straight  lines,  and  are  far  more  rapid  than  they  once 
were.  The  public  audience  now  craves  a  short  method,  a 
distinct  sharp  statement,  and  a  rapid  and  accelerating 
movement,  upon  the  part  of  its  teachers."  *  It  is,  in  short, 
an  age  of  steam  and  electricity  that  we  live  in,  not  of  slow 
coaches;  an  age  of  locomotives,  electric  telegraphs,  and 
phonography;  and  hence  it  is  the  cream  of  a  speaker's 
thoughts  that  men  want, —  the  wheat,  and  not  the  chaff, — 
the  kernel,  and  not  the  shell, —  the  strong  pungent  essence, 

*  Shedd's  "  Homiletics," 


SOME    ABUSES   OF   WORDS.  159 

and  not  the  thin,  diluted  mixture.  The  model  discourse 
to-day  is  that  which  gives,  not  all  that  can  be  said,  even 
well  said,  on  a  subject,  but  the  very  apices  rerum,  the  tops 
and  sums  of  things  reduced  to  their  simplest  expression, — 
the  drop  of  oil  extracted  from  thousands  of  roses,  and 
condensing  all  their  odors, —  the  healing  power  of  a  hun- 
dred weight  of  bark  in  a  few  grains  of  quinine. 

"  Certainly  the  greatest  and  wisest  conceptions  that  ever 
issued  from  the  mind  of  man,"  says  South,  "  have  been 
couched  under,  and  delivered  in,  a  few,  close,  home,  and 
significant  words.  .  .  Was  not  the  work  of  all  the  six 
days  (of  creation)  transacted  in  so  many  words?  .  .  . 
Heaven,  and  earth,  and  all  the  host  of  both,  as  it  were, 
dropped  from  God's  mouth,  and  nature  itself  was  but  the 
product  of  a  word.  .  .  The  seven  wise  men  of  Greece,  so 
famous  for  their  wisdom  all  the  world  over,  acquired  all 
that  fame,  each  of  them  by  a  single  sentence,  consisting  of 
two  or  three  words.  And  yv<b$i  ffeaurov  still  lives  and 
nourishes  in  the  mouths  of  all,  while  many  vast  volumes 
are  extinct,  and  sunk  into  dust  and  utter  oblivion." 

Akin  to  the  prolixity  of  style  which  weakens  so  many 
speeches,  is  the  habitual  exaggeration  of  language  which 
deforms  both  our  public  and  our  private  discourse.  The 
most  unmanageable  of  all  parts  of  speech,  with  many 
persons,  is  the  adjective.  Voltaire  has  justly  said  that  the 
adjectives  are  often  the  greatest  enemies  of  the  substan- 
tives, though  they  may  agree  in  gender,  number,  and  case. 
An  adjective  is,  indeed,  an  addition;  but  "an  addition  may 
be  an  incumbrance,  as  even  a  dog  finds  out  when  a  kettle 
is  tied  to  his  tail."  Generally  the  weakness  of  a  composi-. 
tion  is  just  in  proportion  to  the  frequency  with  which  this 
abused  class  of  words  is  introduced.  As  in  gunnery  the 


16U  WORDS;   THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

force  of  the  discharge  is  proportioned,  not  to  the  amount 
of  powder  that  can  be  used,  but  to  the  amount  that  can  be 
thoroughly  ignited,  so  it  is  not  the  multitude  of  words,  but 
the  exact  number  fired  by  the  thought,  that  gives  energy  to 
expression.  There  are  some  writers  and  speakers  who  seem 
to  have  forgotten  that  there  are  three  degrees  of  compari- 
son. The  only  adjectives  they  ever  use  are  the  superlative, 
and  even  these  are  raised  to  the  third  power.  With  them 
there  is  no  gradation,  no  lights  and  shadows.  Every  hill  is 
Alpine,  every  valley  Tartarean;  every  virtue  is  godlike, 
every  fault  a  felony;  every  breeze  a  tempest,  and  every 
molehill  a  mountain.  Praise  or  blame  beggars  their  vocab- 
ulary; epithets  are  heightened  into  superlatives;  superla- 
tives stretch  themselves  into  hyperboles;  and  hyperboles 
themselves  get  out  of  breath,  and  die  asthmatically  of 
exhaustion. 

Of  all  the  civilized  peoples  on  the  face  of  the  globe,  our 
Hibernian  friends  excepted,  Americans  are  probably  t In- 
most addicted  to  this  exaggeration  of  speech.  As  our 
mountains,  lakes,  and  rivers  are  all  on  a  gigantic  scale,  we 
seem  to  think  our  speech  must  be  framed  after  the  same 
pattern.  Even  our  jokes  are  of  the  most  stupendous  kind; 
they  set  one  to  thinking  of  the  Alleghanies,  or  suggest  the 
immensity  of  the  prairies.  A  Western  orator,  in  portraying 
the  most  trivial  incident,  rolls  along  a  Mississippian  flood 
of  eloquence,  and  the  vastness  of  his  metaphors  makes  you 
think  you  are  living  in  the  age  of  the  megatheriums  and, 
saurians,  and  listening  to  one  of  a  pre- Adamite  race.  In 
ordinary  conversation,  such  is  our  enthusiasm  or  our 
poverty  of  expression,  that  we  cannot  talk  upon  the  most 
ordinary  themes,  except  in  the  most  extravagant  and  en- 
raptured terms.  Everything  that  pleases  us  is  positively 


SOME    ABUSES   OF    WOKDS.  161 

"  delicious,"  "  nice,"  or  "  charming  " ;  everything  handsome 
is  "elegant,"  or  "splendid";  everything  that  we  dislike  is 
"hateful,"  "dreadful,"  "  horrible,"  or  "shocking."  Listen 
to  a  circle  of  lively  young  ladies  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
you  will  learn  that,  within  the  compass  of  a  dozen  hours, 
they  have  met  with  more  marvelous  adventures  and  hair- 
breadth escapes, —  passed  through  more  thrilling  experi- 
ences, and  seen  more  gorgeous  spectacles,  endured  more 
fright,  and  enjoyed  more  rapture, — than  could  be  crowded 
into  a  whole  life-time,  even  if  spun  out  to  threescore  and 
ten. 

Ask  a  person  what  he  thinks  of  the  weather  in  a  rainy 
season,  and  he  will  tell  you  that  "  it  rains  cats  and  dogs," 
or  that  "it  beats  all  the  storms  since  the  flood."  If  his 
clothes  get  sprinkled  in  crossing  the  street,  he  has  been 
"drenched  to  the  skin."  The  days  are  "as  dark  as  Egypt," 
and  the  mud  in  the  streets  is  everywhere  "  up  to  one's 
knees."  If  a  Yankee  makes  a  shrewd  or  lucky  speculation, 
he  is  said  to  have  cleared  "heaps  of  money,"  and  every- 
body envies  him  "  the  pile  of  greenbacks  he  has  bagged." 
All  our  winds  blow  a  hurricane;  all  our  fires  are  confla- 
grations,—  even  though  only  a  hencoop  is  burned;  all  our 
fogs  can  be  cut  with  a  knife.  Nobody  fails  in  this  country; 
he  "bursts  up."  All  our  orators  rival  Demosthenes  in 
eloquence;  they  beat  Chillingworth  in  logic;  and  their 
sarcasm  is  more  "  withering  "  than  that  of  Junius  himself. 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  public  meeting  in  this  country  that 
was  not  "an  immense  demonstration";  of  an  actor's  benefit 
at  which  the  house  was  not  "  crowded  from  pit  to  dome " ; 
of  a  political  nomination  that  was  not  "sweeping  the 
country  like  wild-fire"?  Where  is  the  rich  man  who  does 
not  "roll  in  wealth," — or  the  poor  man  who  is  "worth 


162  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

the  first  red  cent"?      All  our  good  men  are  paragons  of 
virtue, —  our  villains,  monsters  of  iniquity. 

Many  of  our  public  speakers  seem  incapable  of  express- 
ing themselves  in  a  plain,  calm,  truthful  manner  on  any 
subject  whatever.  A  great  deal  of  our  writing,  too.  is 
pitched  on  an  unnatural,  falsetto  key.  Quiet  ease  of  style, 
like  that  of  Cowley's  "Essays,"  Goldsmith's  "Vicar  of 
Wakefield,"  or  White's  "Natural  History  of  Selborne,"  is 
almost  a  lost  art.  Our  newspaper  literature  is  becoming 
more  and  more  sensational;  and  it  seems  sometimes  as  if 
it  would  come  to  consist  of  head-lines  and  exclamation 
points.  Some  of  the  most  popular  correspondents  are 
those  whose  communications  are  a  perfect  florilegium  of 
fine  words.  They  rival  the  "  tulipomania "  in  their  love 
of  gaudy  and  glaring  colors,  and  apparently  care  little 
how  trite  or  feeble  their  thoughts  may  be,  provided  they 
have  dragon-wings,  all  green  and  gold.  It  was  said  of 
Rufus  Choate,  whose  brain  teemed  with  a  marvellous 
wealth  of  words,  and  who  was  very  prodigal  of  adjectives, 
that  he  "drove  a  substantive-and-six "  whenever  he  spoke 
in  public,  and  that  he  would  be  as  pathetic  as  the  grand 
lamentations  in  "  Samson  Agonistes "  on  the  obstruction 
of  fishways,  and  rise  to  the  cathedral  music  of  the  uni- 
verse on  the  right  to  manufacture  India-rubber  suspend- 
ers. When  Chief- Justice  Shaw,  before  whom  he  had  often 
pleaded,  heard  that  there  was  a  new  edition  of  "  Worces- 
ter's Dictionary,"  containing  two  thousand  five  hundred 
new  words,  he  exclaimed,  "For  heaven's  sake,  don't  let 
Choate  get  hold  of  it!" 

Even  scientific  writers,  who  might  be  expected  to  aim  at 
some  exactness,  often  caricature  truth  with  equal  grossness, 
—  describing  things  the  most  Liliputian  by  Brobdignagian 


SOME   ABUSES   OF   WORDS.  163 

metaphors.  Thus  a  French  naturalist  represents  the  blood 
of  a  louse  as  "rushing  through  his  veins  like  a  torrent!" 
Even  ii?  treating  of  this  very  subject  of  exaggeration,  a 
writer  in  an  English  periodical,  after  rebuking  sharply 
this  American  fault,  himself  outrages  truth  by  declaring 
that  "he  would  walk  fifty  miles  on  foot  to  see  the  man  that 
never  caricatures  the  subject  on  which  he  speaks!"  To  a 
critic  who  thus  fails  to  reck  his  own  rede,  we  would  say 
with  Sir  Thomas  Browne:  "  Thou  who  so  hotly  disclaimest 
the  devil,  be  not  thyself  guilty  of  diabolism." 

Seriously,  when  shall  we  have  done  with  this  habit  of 
amplification  and  exaggeration, —  of  blowing  up  molehills 
into  Himalayas  and  Chimborazos?  Can  anything  be  more 
obvious  than  the  dangers  of  such  a  practice?  Is  it  not 
evident  that  by  applying  super-superlatives  to  things  petty 
•or  commonplace,  we  must  exhaust  our  vocabulary,  so  that 
when  a  really  great  thing  is  to  be  described,  we  shall  be 
bankrupt  of  adjectives?  It  is  true  there  is  no  more  unpar- 
donable sin  than  dulness;  but,  to  avoid  being  drowsy,  it  is 
not  necessary  that  our  "good  Homers"  should  be  always 
electrifying  us  with  a  savage  intensity  of  expression. 
There  is  nothing  of  which  a  reader  tires  so  soon  as  of  a 
continual  blaze  of  brilliant  periods, —  a  style  in  which  a 
"qu'  il  mourut"  and  a  "let  there  be  light"  are  crowded 
into  every  line.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  nothing  which 
adds  so  much  to  the  beauty  of  style  as  contrast.  Where  all 
men  are  giants,  there  are  no  giants;  where  all  is  emphatic 
in  style,  there  is  no  emphasis.  Travel  a  few  months  among 
the  mountains,  and  you  will  grow  as  sick  of  the  everlast- 
ing monotony  of  grandeur,  of  beetling  cliffs  and  yawning 
chasms,  as  of  an  eternal  succession  of  plains.  Yet  in 
defiance  of  this  obvious  truth,  the  sensational  writer  thinks 


164  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  AHI/SK. 

the  reader  will  deem  him  dull  unless  every  sentence  blazes 
with  meaning,  and  every  paragraph  is  crammed  with 
power.  His  intellect  is  always  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  every 
passage  is  an  approved  attitude  of  mental  carte  and  tierce. 
If  he  were  able  to  create  a  world,  there  would  probably  be 
no  latent  heat  in  it,  and  no  twilight;  and  should  he  drop 
his  pen  and  turn  painter,  his  pictures  would  all  be  fore- 
ground, with  no  more  perspective  than  those  of  the  Chinese. 
It  is  a  law  of  oratory,  and  indeed  of  all  discourse, 
whether  oral  or  written,  that  it  is  .the  subdued  expression 
of  conviction  and  feeling,  when  the  speaker  or  writer,  in- 
stead of  giving  vent  to  his  emotions,  veils  them  in  part, 
and  suffers  only  glimpses  of  them  to  be  seen,  that  is  the 
most  powerful.  It  is  the  man  who  is  all  but  mastered  by 
his  excitement,  but  who,  at  the  very  point  of  being  mas- 
tered, masters  himself, —  apparently  cool  when  he  is  at  a 
white  heat, —  whose  eloquence  is  most  conquering.  When 
the  speaker,  using  a  gentler  mode  of  expression  than  the 
case  might  warrant,  appears  to  stifle  his  feelings  and  studi- 
ously to  keep  them  within  bounds,  a  reaction  is  produced  in 
the  hearer's  mind,  and,  rushing  into  the  opposite  extreme, 
he  is  moved  more  deeply  than  by  the  most  vehement  and 
passionate  declamation.  The  jets  of  flame  that  escape  now 
and  then, —  the  suppressed  bursts  of  feeling, —  the  partial 
eruptions  of  passion, —  are  regarded  as  but  hints  or  faint 
intimations  of  the  volcano  within.  Balzac,  in  one  of  his 
tales,  tells  of  an  artist,  who,  by  a  few  touches  of  his  pencil, 
could  give  to  a  most  commonplace  scene  an  air  of  over- 
powering horror,  and  throw  over  'the  most  ordinary  and 
prosaic  objects  a  spectral  air  of  crime  and  blood.  Through 
a  half-opened  door  you  see  a  bed  with  the  clothes  confusedly 
heaped,  as  in  rfome  death-struggle,  over  an  undefined  object 


SOME   ABUSES   OF   WORDS.  165 

which  fancy  whispers  must  be  a  bleeding  corpse;  on  the 
Moor  you  see  a  slipper,  an  upset  candlestick,  and  a  knife 
perhaps;  and  these  hints  tell  the  story  of  blood  more  sig- 
nificantly and  more  powerfully  than  the  most  elaborate 
detail,  because  the  imagination  of  man  is  more  powerful 
than  art  itself.  So  with  Hood's  description  of  the  Haunted 
House : — 

"  Over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear, 

A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted. 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  to  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted!" 

Thoreau,  describing  an  interview  he  had  at  Concord 
with  John  Brown,  notices  as  one  of  the  latter's  marked 
peculiarities,  that  he  did  not  overstate  anything,  but  spoke 
within  bounds.  "  He  referred  to  what  his  family  had  suf- 
fered in  Kansas,  without  ever  giving  the  least  vent  to  his 
pent-up  fire.  It  was  a  volcano  with  an  ordinary  chimney- 
flue.'"  In  one  of  the  published  letters  of  the  late  Rev.  P. 
W.  Eobertson,  there  are  some  admirable  comments  on  a 
letter,  full  of  strongly-expressed  religious  sentiments,  pious 
resolutions,  etc.,  which  he  had  received  from  a  fashionable 
lady.  The  letter,  he  says,  "is  in  earnest  so  far  as  it  goes; 
only  that  fatal  facility  of  strong  words  expresses  feeling 
which  will  seek  for  itself  no  other  expression.  She  believes 
or  means  what  she  says,  but  the  very  vehemence  of  the 
expression  injures  her,  for  really  it  expresses  the  penitence 
of  a  St.  Peter,  and  would  not  be  below  the  mark  if  it  were 
meant  to  describe  the  bitter  tears  with  which  he  bewailed 
his  crime;  but  when  such  language  is  used  for  trifles,  there 
remains  nothing  stronger  for  the  aivful  crises  of  human  life. 
It  is  like  Draco's  code, —  death  for  larceny,  and  there  re- 
mains for  parricide  or  treason  only  death." 


166  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Let  us,  then,  be  as  chary  of  our  superlatives  as  of  our 
Sunday  suit.  Hardly  a  greater  mistake  can  be  made  in 
regard  to  expression,  than  to  suppose  that  a  uniform  in- 
tensity of  style  is  a  proof  of  mental  power.  So  far  is  this 
from  being  true,  that  it  may  safely  be  said  that  such  inten- 
sity not  only  implies  a  want  of  truthfulness  and  simplicity, 
but  even  of  earnestness  and  real  force.  Intensity  is  not  a 
characteristic  of  nature,  in  spirit  or  in  matter.  The  sur- 
face of  the  earth  is  not  made  up  of  mountains  and  valleys, 
but,  for  the  most  part,  of  gentle  undulations.  The  ocean  is 
not  always  in  a  rage,  but,  if  not  calm,  its  waves  rise  and 
fall  with  gentle  fluctuation.  Hurricanes  and  tempests  are 
the  extraordinary,  not  the  usual,  conditions  of  our  atmos- 
phere. Not  only  the  strongest  thinkers-,  but  the  most  pow- 
erful orators,  have  been  distinguished  rather  for  modera- 
tion than  for  exaggeration  in  expression.  The  great  secret 
of  Daniel  Webster's  strength  as  a  speaker  lay  in  the  fact 
that  he  made  it  a  practice  to  understate  rather  than  to 
overstate  his  confidence  in  the  force  of  his  own  ai'guments, 
and  in  the  logical  necessity  of  his  conclusions.  The  sober 
and  solid  tramp  of  his  style  reflected  the  movements  of  an 
intellect  that  palpably  respected  the  relations  and  dimen- 
sions of  things,  and  to  which  exaggeration  would  have 
been  an  immorality.  Holding  that  violence  of  language 
is  evidence  of  feebleness  of  thought  and  lack  of  reasoning 
power,  he  kept  his  auditor  constantly  in  advance  of  him, 
by  suggestion  rather  than  by  strong  asseveration,  and  by 
calmly  stating  the  facts  that  ought  to  move  the  hearer. 

* 

instead  of  by  tearing  passion  to  tatters,  the  man  being 
always  felt  to  be  greater  than  the  man's  feelings.  Such 
has  been  the  method  of  all  great  rhetoricians  of  ancient 
and  modern  times. 


SOME   ABUSES   OF   WORDS.  167 

The  most  effective  speakers  are  not  those  who  tell  all 
they  think  or  feel,  but  those  who,  by  maintaining  an 
austere  conscientiousness  of  phrase,  leave  on  their  hearers 
the  impression  of  reserved  power.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
we  do  the  work  of  a  pistol  with  a  twenty-four  pounder, 
or  kill  cock  robins  with  Paixhans, —  and,  when  anything 
more  formidable  is  to  be  destroyed,  touch  off  the  fusee  of 
a  volcano, —  we  shall  find,  when  we  come  to  the  real  tug 
of  war,  that  our  instruments  of  offense  are  weak,  worn 
out  and  worthless.  Great  bastions  of  military  strength 
must  lie  at  rest  in  times  of  peace,  that  they  may  be  able 
to  execute  their  destructive  agencies  in  times  of  war;  and 
so  let  it  be  with  the  superlatives  of  our  tongue.  Never 
call  on  the  "  tenth  legion,"  or  "  the  old  guard,"  except 
on  occasions  corresponding  to  the  dignity  and  weight 
of  those  tremendous  forces.  Say  plain  things  in  a  plain 
way,  and  then,  when  you  have  occasion  to  send  a  sharp 
arrow  at  your  enemy,  you  will  not  find  your  quiver  empty 
of  shafts  which  you  wasted  before  they  were  wanted. 

"You  should  not  speak  to  think,  nor  think  to  speak; 
But  words  and  thoughts  should  of  themselves  ontwell 
From  inner  fullness:  chest  and  heart  should  swell 
To  give  them  birth.    Better  be  dumb  a  week 
Than  idly  prattle;  better  in  leisure  sleek 
Lie  fallow-minded,  than  a  brain  compel 
To  wasting  plenty  that  hath  yielded  well, 
Or  strive  to  crop  a  soil  too  thin  and  bleak. 
One  true  thought,  from  the  deepest  heart  up-springing, 
May  from  within  a  whole  life  fertilize; 
One  true  word,  like  the  lightning  sudden  gleaming, 
May  rend  the  night  of  a  whole  world  of  lies. 
Much  speech,  much  theught,  may  often  be  but  seeming, 
Bat  in  one  truth  might  boundless  ever  lies." 


168  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SAXON   WORDS,    OR    ROMANIC? 

Spartam  nactus  es;  hanc  exorna,—  should  be  our  motto  regarding  both  our 
country  and  our  country's  tongue.—  HARE. 

When  you  doubt  between  words,  use  the  plainest,  the  commonest,  the 
most  idiomatic.  Eschew  tine  words  as  you  would  rouge;  love  simple  ones 
as  you  would  native  roses  on  your  cheek.— IB. 

Were  I  mistress  of  fifty  languages,  I  would  think  in  the  deep  German,  con- 
verse in  the  gay  French,  write  in  the  copious  English,  sing  in  the  majestic  Span- 
ish, deliver  in  the  noble  Greek,  and  make  love  in  the  soft  Italian.—  MADAME  DE 
STAEL. 

Words  have  their  proper  places,  just  like  men  ; 

We  listen  to,  not  venture  to  reprove, 

I^arge  language  swelling  under  gilded  domes, 

Byzantine,  Syrian,  Persepolitan.— LANDOR. 

IT  is  a  question  of  deep  interest  to  all  public  speakers 
and  writers,  and  one  which  has  provoked  not  a  little 
discussion  of  late  years,  whether  the  Saxon  or  the  Romanic 
part  of  our  language  should  be  preferred  by  those  who 
would  employ  "  the  Queen's  English "  with  potency  and 
effect.  Of  late  it  has  been  the  fashion  to  cry  up  the  native 
element  at  the  expense  of  the  foreign;  and  among  the  cham- 
pions of  the  former  we  may  name  Dr.  Whewell,  of  Cam- 
bridge, and  a  modern  Rector  of  the  University  of  Glasgow, 
whom  De  Quincey  censures  for  an  erroneous  direction  to 
the  students  to  that  effect.  We  may  also  add  Lord  Stanley, 
—  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  polished  speakers  in  the 
British  Parliament, —  who,  in  an  address  some  years  ago  to 
the  students  of  the  same  University,  after  expressing  his 
surprise  that  so  few  persons,  comparatively,  in  Great  Brit- 


SAXON    WORDS,   OR    ROMANIC?  169 

ain,  have  acquainted  themselves  with  the  origin,  the  his- 
tory and  the  gradual  development  of  that  mother  tongue 
which  is  already  spoken  over  half  the  world,  which  is  des- 
tined to  yet  further  geographical  extension,  and  which  em- 
bodies many  of  the  noblest  thoughts  that  have  ever  issued 
from  the  brain  of  man, —  adds:  "  Depend  upon  it,  it  is  the 
plain  Saxon  phrase,  not  the  term  borrowed  from  Greek  or 
Roman  literature,  that,  whether  in  speech  or  writing,  goes 
straightest  and  strongest  to  men's  heads  and  hearts."  On 
the  other  hand  "  the  Opium-Eater,"  commenting  on  a 
remark  of  Coleridge  that  Wordsworth's  "Excursion"  bristles 
beyond  most  poems  with  polysyllabic  words  of  Greek  or 
Latin  origin,  asserts  that  so  must  it  ever  be  in  meditative 
poetry  upon  solemn,  philosophic  themes.  The  gamut  of 
ideas  needs  a  corresponding  gamut  of  expressions;  the  scale 
of  the  thinking,  which  ranges  through  every  key,  exacts  for 
the  artist  an  unlimited  command  over  the  entire  scale  of 
the  instrument  he  employs. 

It  has  been  computed,  he  adds,  that  the  Italian  opera 
has  not  above  six  hundred  words  in  its  whole  vocabulary: 
so  narrow  is  the  range  of  its  emotions,  and  so  little  are 
those  emotions  disposed  to  expand  themselves  into  any 
variety  of  thinking.  The  same  remark  applies  to  that  class 
of  simple,  household,  homely  passion,  which  belongs  to  the 
early  ballad  poetry.  "  Pass  from  these  narrow  fields  of  the 
intellect,  where  the  relations  of  the  objects  are  so  few  and 
simple,  and  the  whole  prospect  so  bounded,  to  the  immeas- 
urable and  sea-like  arena  upon  which  Shakspeare  careers, — 
co-infinite  with  life  itself, —  yes,  and  with  something  more 
than  life.  Here  is  the  other  pole,  the  opposite  extreme. 
And  what  is  the  choice  of  diction?  What  is  the  lexis  ?  Is 
it  Saxon  exclusively,  or  is  it  Saxon  by  preference?  So  far 


170  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

from  that,  the  Latinity  is  intense, —  not,  indeed,  in  his  con- 
struction, but  in  his  choice  of  words;  and  so  continually 
are  these  Latin  words  used,  with  a  critical  respect  to  their 
earliest  (and  where  that  happens  to  have  existed,  to  their 
unfigurative)  meaning;  that,  upon  this  one  argument  I 
would  rely  for  upsetting  the  else  impregnable  thesis  of  Dr. 
Farmer  as  to  Shakspeare's  learning.  .  .  These  '  diction- 
ary' words  are  indispensable  to  a  writer,  not  only  in  the 
proportion  by  which  he  transcends  other  writers  as  to 
extent  and  as  to  subtilty  of  thinking,  but  also  as  to  eleva- 
tion and  sublimity.  Milton  was  not  an  extensive  or  dis- 
cursive thinker,  as  Shakspeare  was;  for  the  motions  of  his 
mind  were  slow,  solemn,  sequacious,  like  those  of  the  plan- 
ets; not  agile  and  assimilative;  not  attracting  all  things 
into  its  sphere;  not  multiform:  repulsion  was  the  law  of 
his  intellect, — he  moved  in  solitary  grandeur.  Yet,  merely 
from  this  quality  of  grandeur, —  unapproachable  grandeur, 
—  his  intellect  demanded  a  larger  infusion  of  Latinity  into 
his  diction."  De  Quineey  concludes,  therefore,  that  the 
true  scholar  will  manifest  a  partiality  for  neither  part  of 
the  language,  but  will  be  governed  in  his  choice  of  words 
by  the  theme  he  is  handling. 

This  we  believe  to  be  the  true  answer  to  the  question. 
The  English  language  has  a  special  dowry  of  power  in  its 
double-headed  origin;  the  Saxon  part  of  the  language  ful- 
fills one  set  of  functions;  the  Latin,  another.  Neither  is 
good  or  bad  absolutely,  but  only  in  its  relation  to  its  sub- 
ject, and  according  to. the  treatment  which  the  subject 
is  meant  to  receive.  The  Saxon  has  nerve,  terseness  and 
simplicity;  it  smacks  of  life  and  experience,  and  "puts 
small  and  convenient  handles  to  things, —  handles  that 
are  easy  to  grasp" ;  but  it  has  neither  height  nor  breadth 


SAXON   WORDS,    OR   ROMANIC?  171 

for  every  theme.  To  confine  ourselves  to  it  would  be, 
therefore,  a  most  egregious  error.  The  truth  is,  it  is  no 
one  element  which  constitutes  the  power  and  efficiency  of 
our  noble  and  expressive  tongue,  but  the  great  multitude 
and  the  rich  variety  of  the  elements  which  enter  into  its 
composition.  Its  architectural  order  is  neither  Doric, 
Ionic,  nor  Corinthian,  but  essentially  composite;  a  splendid 
mosaic,  to  the  formation  of  which  many  ancient  and  mod- 
ern languages  have  contributed;  defective  in  unity  and 
symmetrical  grace  of  proportion,  but  of  vast  resources 
and  of  immense  power.  With  such  a  wealth  of  words  at 
our  command,  to  confine  ourselves  to  the  pithy  but  limited 
Saxon,  or  to  employ  it  chiefly,  would  be  to  practice  a  foolish 
economy, —  to  be  poor  in  the  midst  of  plenty,  like  the 
miser  amid  his  money-bags.  All  experiments  of  this  kind 
will  fail  as  truly,  if  not  as  signally,  as  that  of  Charles 
James  Fox,  who,  an  intense  admirer  of  the  Saxon,  at- 
tempted to  portray  in  that  dialect  the  Revolution  of  1688, 
and  produced  a  book  which  his  warmest  admirers  admitted 
to  be  meagre,  dry,  and  spiritless, —  without  picturesque- 
ness,  color,  or  cadence. 

It  is  true  that  within  a  certain  limited  and  narrow  circle 
of  ideas,  we  can  get  along  with  Saxon  words  very  well. 
The  loftiest  poetry,  the  most  fervent  devotion,  even  the 
most  earnest  and  impassioned  oratory,  may  all  be  expressed 
in  words  almost  purely  Teutonic;  but  the  moment  we 
come  to  the  abstract  and  the  technical, —  to  discussion  and 
speculation, —  we  cannot  stir  a  step  without  drawing  on 
foreign  sources.  Simple  narrative, —  a  pathos  resting  upon 
artless  circumstances, —  elementary  feelings, — homely  and 
household  affections, —  these  are  all  most  happily  expressed 
by  the  old  Saxon  vocabulary ;  but  a  passion  which  rises 


172  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

into  grandeur,  which  is  complex,  elaborate,  and  interveined 
with  high  meditative  feelings,  would  languish  or  abso- 
lutely halt,  without  aid  from  the  Romanic  part  of  the 
vocabulary.  If  Anglo-Saxon  is  the  frame-work  or  skele- 
ton of  our  language,  the  spine  on  which  the  structure  of 
our  speech  is  hung, —  if  it  is  the  indispensable  medium  of 
familiar  converse  and  the  business  of  life, —  it  no  more 
fills  out  the  full  and  rounded  outline  of  our  language, 
than  the  skeleton,  nerves,  and  sinews  form  the  whole  of 
the  human  body.  It  is  the  classical  contributions,  the 
hundreds  and  thousands  of  Romanic  words  which  during 
and  since  the  sixteenth  century  have  found  a  home  in  our 
English  speech,  that  have  furnished  its  spiritual  concep- 
tions, and  endowed  the  material  body  with  a  living  soul. 
These  words  would  never  have  been  adopted,  had  they 
not  been  absolutely  •  necessary  to  express  new  modes  and 
combinations  of  thought.  The  language  has  gained  im- 
mensely by  the  infusion,  not  only  in  richness  of  synonyme 
and  the  power  of  expressing  nice  shades  of  thought  and 
feeling,  but  more  than  all,  in  light-footed  polysyllables 
that  trip  singing  to  the  music  of  verse.  If  the  saying  of 
Shakspeare,  that 

"The  learned  pate  ducks  to  the  golden  fool," 

is  more  expressive  than  it  would  be  if  couched  in  Latin 
words,  would  not  the  fine  thought  that 

"Nice  customs  courtesy  to  kings," 

be  greatly  injured  by  substituting  any  other  words  for 
nice  and  courtesy?  It  has  been  observed  that  Wordsworth's 
famous  ode,  "  Intimations  of  Immortality,"  translated  into 
Hints  of  Deathlessness,  would  hiss  like  an  angry  gander. 
Instead  of  Shakspeare's 


SAXON   WORDS,    OR   ROMANIC  V  173 

"  Age  cannot  wither  her, 
Nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  variety," 

say  "  her  boundless  manifoldness,"  and  would  not  the  sen- 
timent suffer  in  exact  proportion  with  the  music?  With 
what  equally  expressive  Saxon  terms  would  you  supply  the 
place  of  such  words  as  the  long  ones  blended  with  the  short 
in  the  exclamation  of  the  horror-stricken  Macbeth: 

"  Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand?    No!   this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  sea  incarnadine, 
Making  the  green  one  red." 

As  the  poet  Lowell  justly  asks,  could  anything  be  more 
expressive  than  the  huddling  epithet  which  here  implies 
the  tempest- tossed  soul  of  the  speaker,  and  at  the  same 
time  pictures  the  wallowing  waste  of  ocean  more  vividly 
than  does  ^Eschylus  its  rippling  sunshine?  "'Multitudinous 
seas,' — what  an  expression!  You  feel  the  wide  weltering 
waste  of  confused  and  tumbling  waves  around  you  in  that 
single  word.  What  beauty  and  wealth  of  color  too  in 
incarnadine,  a  word  capable  of  dyeing  an  ocean!  and  then, 
after  these  grand  polysyllables,  how  terse  and  stern  comes 
in  the  solid  Saxon,  as  if  a  vast  cloud  had  condensed  into 
great  heavy  drops, —  the  deep  one  red."*  Is  it  not  plain 
that  if  you  substitute  any  less  massive  words  for  the 
sesquipedalia  verba,  the  sonoYous  terms  "multitudinous" 
and  "incarnadine,"  the  whole  grandeur  of  the  passage 
would  collapse  at  once? 

Among  the  British  orators  of  this  century  few  have 
had  a  greater  command  of  language,  or  used  it  with 
nicer  discrimination,  than  Canning.  What  can  be  happier 
than  the  blending  of  the  native  and  the  foreign  elements 
in  the  following  eloquent  passage?  Most  of  the  italicized 
words  are  Saxon: 

*  W.  W.  Story. 


174  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  AIJUSK. 

"Our  present  repose  is  no  more  a  proof  of  our  inability  to  act  than  the 
state  of  inertness  and  inactivity  in  which  I  have  seen  tho*<-  miy/ity  /// </.•.•« x 
that  Jloat  in  the  waters  above  your  town  is  a  proof  that  they  are  devoid  of 
strength  or  incapable  of  being  fitted  for  action.  You  well  know,  gentlemen, 
how  soon  one  of  those  stupendous  masses  now  reposing  on  their  shadows  in  per- 
fect stillness  — how  soon,  upon  any  call  c  f  patriotism  or  of  necessity,  it  would 
assume  (he  likeness  of  an  animated  thiny,  instinct  with  life  and  motion  —  how 
soon  it  would  ruffle,  as  it  were,  its  swelling  plumage  —  how  quickly  it  would  put 
forth  all  its  beauty  and  its  bravery,  collect  Us  scattered  elements  of  strength,  and 
awake  its  dormant  thunders.  Such  as  is  one  of  those  magnificent  machines 
when  springing  from  inaction  into  a  display  of  its  strength,  such  is  England 
itself,  while,  apparently  passive  and  motionless,  she  silently  causes  her 
power  to  be  put  forth  on  an  adequate  occasion." 

In  the  famous  passage  in  Sterne's  "Tristam  Shandy," 
which  has  been  pronounced  the  most  musical  in  our  lan- 
guage, nearly  all  the  words  are  Saxon: 

"The  accusing  spirit  that  flew  up  to  Heaven's  chancery  with  the  oath,  blushed 
as  he  gave  it  in,  and  the  recording  angel,  as  he  wrote  it  down,  dropped  a  tear 
upon  the  word,  and  blotted  it  out  forever.  ' 

It  is  true,  as  we  have  already  said,  that  the  Saxon  has 
the  advantage  of  being  the  aboriginal  element,  the  basis 
and  not  the  superstructure,  of  the  language;  it  is  the  dia- 
lect of  the  nursery,  and  its  words  therefore,  being  conse- 
crated to 'the  feelings  by  early  use,  are  full  of  secret  sug- 
gestions and  echoes,  which  greatly  multiply  their  power. 
Its  words,  though  not  intrinsically,  yet  to  us,  from  associa- 
tion, are  more  concrete  and  pictorial  than  those  derived 
from  the  Latin ;  and  this  is  particularly  true  of  many  beau- 
tiful words  we  have  lost.  How  much  more  expressive  to 
us  is  "  sea-robber  "  than  "  pirate  " ;  "  sand- waste  "  than 
"  desert " ;  "  eye-bite  "  than  "  fascinate  " ;  "  mill-race  ''  than 
"  channel  " ;  "  water- fright "  than  "  hydrophobia  " ;  "  moon- 
ling"  than  "lunatic";  "show-holiness"  than  "hypocrisy"; 
"  in-wit "  than  "  conscience  " ;  "  gold-hoard  "  than  "  treas- 
ure"! Therefore,  as  De  Quincey  says,  "wherever  the 
passion  of  a  poem  is  of  that  sort  which  uses,  prrxitiiH*  or 


SAXOX   WORDS,   OR   ROMANIC?  175 

pusfii  fate*  the  ideas,  without  seeking  to  extend  them,  Saxon 
will  be  the  '  cocoon '  (to  speak  by  the  language  applied  to 
silk-worms),  which  the  poem  spins  for  itself.  But  on  the 
other  hand,  where  the  motion  of  the  feeling  is  by  and 
thronyh  the  ideas,  where  (as  in  religious  or  meditative 
poetry, —  Young's,  for  instance,  or  Cowper's),  the  pathos 
creeps  and  kindles  underneath  the  very  tissues  of  the 
thinking,  there  the  Latin  will  predominate ;  and  so  much 
so  that,  whilst  the  flesh,  the  blood  and  the  muscle  will  be 
often  almost  exclusively  Latin,  the  articulations  only,  or 
hinges  of  connection,  will  be  Anglo-Saxon." 

Let  us  be  thankful,  then,  that  our  language  has  other 
elements  than  the  Saxon,  admirable  as  that  is.  Let  us  be 
grateful  for  that  inheritance  of  collateral  wealth,  which, 
by  engrafting  our  Anglo-Saxon  stem  with  the  mixed  dia- 
lect of  Normandy,  caused  ultimately  the  whole  opulence 
of  Roman,  and  even  of  Grecian  thought,  to  play  freely 
through  the  pulses  of  our  native  tongue.  No  doubt  the 
immediate  result  was  anything  but  pleasant.  For  a  long 
time  after  the  language  was  thrown  again  into  the  cru- 
cible, Britons,  Saxons  and  Normans  talked  a  jargon  fit 
neither  for  gods  nor  men.  It  was  a  chaos  of  language, 
hissing,  sputtering,  bubbling  like  a  witch's  caldron.  But 
luckily  the  Saxon  element  was  yet  plastic  and  unfrozen,  so 
that  the  new  elements  could  fuse  with  its  own,  thus  form- 
ing that  wondrous  instrument  of  expression  which  we  now 
enjoy,  fitted  fully  to  reflect  the  thoughts  of  the  myriad- 
minded  Shakspeare,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  with  enough 
remaining  of  its  old  forest  stamina  for  imparting  a  mas- 
culine depth  to  the  sublimities  of  Milton  or  the  Hebrew 
prophets,  and  to  the  Historic  Scriptures  that  patriarchal 
simplicity  which  is  one  of  their  greatest  charms. 


176  WORDS;   THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

We  are  aware  that,  in  reply  to  all  this,  it  may  be  asked, 
Are  not  ninety-three  words  out  of  every  hundred  in  the 
Bible  Anglo-Saxon;  and  where  are  the  life,  beauty  and 
freshness  of  our  language  to  be  found  in  so  heaped  a  meas- 
ure as  in  that  pure  well  of  English,  the  Bible?  Nothing 
can  be  plainer  or  simpler  than  its  vocabulary,  yet  how  rich 
is  it  in  all  that  concerns  the  moral,  the  spiritual  and  even 
the  intellectual  interests  of  humanity!  Is  it  logic  that 
we  ask?  What  a  range  of  abstract  thought,  what  an 
armory  of  dialectic  weapons,  what  an  enginery  of  vocal 
implements  for  moving  the  soul,  do  we  find  in  tbe  epistles 
of  St.  Paul!  Is  it  rhetoric  that  we  require?  "Where," 
in  the  language  of  South,  "  do  we  find  such  a  natural  pre- 
vailing pathos  as  in  the  lamentations  of  Jeremiah?  One 
would  think  that  every  letter  was  written  with  a  tear, 
every  word  was  the  noise  of  a  breaking  heart;  that  the 
author  was  a  man  compacted  of  sorrow,  disciplined  to  grief 
from  his  infancy,  one  who  never  breathed  but  in  sighs,  nor 
spoke  but  in  a  groan."  Yet,  while  our  translation  owes 
much  of  its  beauty  to  the  Saxon,  there  are  passages  the 
grandeur  of  which  would  be  greatly  diminished  by  the 
substitution  of  Saxon  words  for  the  Latin  ones.  In  the 
following  the  Latin  words  italicized  are  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  preserve  one  of  the  sublimest  rhythms  of  the  Bible. 
"  And  I  heard,  as  it  were,  the  voice  of  a  great  multitude, 
and  as  the  voice  of  many  waters,  and  as  the  voice  of  mighty 
thunderings,  saying, '  Alleluia,  for  the  Lord  God  Omnipotent 
reigneth.'  " 

The  truth  is,  the  translators  of  the  Bible,  while  they 
have  employed  a  large  percentage  of  Saxon  words,  have 
hit  the  golden  mean  in  their  version,  never  hesitating  to 
use  a  Latin  word  when  the  sense  or  the  rhythm  demanded 


SAXON   WORDS,   OR   ROMANIC  ?  177 

it;  and  hence  we  have  the  entire  volume  of  revelation  in 
the  happiest  form  in  which  human  wit  and  learning  have 
ever  made  it  accessible  to  man.  This  an  English  Catholic 
writer,  a  convert  from  the  Anglican  church,  has  mourn- 
fully acknowledged  in  the  following  touching  passage:  — 
"  Who  will  not  say  that  the  uncommon  beauty  and  mar- 
vellous English  of  the  Protestant  Bible  is  not  one  of  the 
great  strongholds  of  heresy  in  this  country?  It  lives  on 
the  ear,  like  a  music  that  can  never  be  forgotten,  like  the 
sound  of  church  bells,  which  the  convert  hardly  knows  how 
he  can  forego.  Its  felicities  often  seem  to  be  almost  things 
rather  than  mere  words.  It  is  part  of  the  national  mind, 
and  the  anchor  of  national  seriousness.  .  .  The  memory  of 
the  dead  passes  into  it.  The  potent  traditions  of  child- 
hood are  stereotyped  in  its  verses.  The  power  of  all  the 
griefs  and  trials  of  a  man  is  hidden  beneath  its  words. 
It  is  the  representative  of  his  best  moments,  and  all  that 
there  has  been  about  him  of  soft  and  gentle,  and  pure 
and  penitent  and  good,  speaks  to  him  for  ever  out  of  his 
English  Bible.  .  .  It  is  his  sacred  thing,  which  doubt 
has  never  dimmed,  and  controversy  never  soiled.  In  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  land  there  is  not  a  Protestant 
with  one  spark  of  religiousness  about  him,  whose  spiritual 
biography  is  not  in  his  Saxon  Bible."* 

It  is  a  very  striking  and  suggestive  fact  that  those  very 
writers  who  award  the  palm  for  expressiveness  to  the 
Saxon  part  of  our  language,  cannot  extol  the  Saxon  with- 
out the  help  of  Latin  words.  Dr.  Gregory  tells  us  that 
when,  in  the  company  of  Robert  Hall,  he  chanced  to  use 
the  term  "  felicity,"  three  or  four  times  in  rather  quick 
succession,  the  latter  asked  him:  "  Why  do  you  say  felicity? 

*  Faber. 


178  WOJIDS;    TIIKIH    USE   AND    ABUSE. 

Happiness  is  a  better  word,  more  musical,  and  genuine 
English,  coming  from  the  Saxon."  "Not  more  musical," 
said  Dr.  Gregory.  "Yes,  more  musical, —  and  so  are  all 
words  derived  from  the  Saxon,  generally.  Listen,  sir: 
'  My  heart  is  smitten,  and  withered  like  grass.'  There  is 
plaintive  music.  Listen  again,  sir:  'Under  the  shadow  of 
thy  wings  will  I  rejoice.'  There  is  cheerful  music."  "  Yes, 
but  rejoice  is  French."  "True,  but  all  the  rest  is  Saxon; 
and  rejoice  is  almost  out  of  time  with  the  other  woi'ds. 
Listen  again :  '  Thou  hast  delivered  my  soul  from  death, 
my  eyes  from  tears,  and  my  feet  from  falling.'  All  Saxon, 
sir,  except  delivered.  I  could  think  of  the  word  tear  till 
I  wept."  But  whence  did  Robert  Hall  get  the  words 
"musical,"  and  "plaintive  music"?  Are  they  not  from 
the  Greek  and  the  French?  Is  not  this  stabbing  a  man 
with  his  own  weapons?  It  is  a  curious  fact,  that,  in  spite 
of  this  eulogy  on  Saxon  words,  a  more  than  ordinary  per- 
centage of  the  words  used  in  Mr.  Hall's  writings  are  of 
Romanic  origin.  Again,  even  Macaulay,  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  and  powerful  of  all  English  writers,  finds  it  im- 
possible to  laud  the  Saxon  part  of  the  language  without 
borrowing  nearly  half  the  words  of  his  famous  panegyric 
from  the  Romanic  part  of  the  vocabulary.  In  his  article 
on  Bunyan,  in  a  passage  written  in  studied  commendation 
of  the  "  pure  old  Saxon "  English,  we  find,  omitting  the 
particles  and  wheel  work,  one  hundred  and  twenty-one 
words,  of  which  fifty-one,  or  over  forty-two  per  cent.,  are 
classical  or  alien.  In  other  words,  this  great  English 
writer,  than  whom  few  have  a  more  imperial  command 
over  all  the  resources  of  expression,  finds  the  Saxon  insuf- 
ficient for  his  eloquent  eulogy  on  Saxon,  and  is  obliged 


SAXON   WORDS,    OR    ROMANIC?  179 

to   borrow  four-tenths  of   his  words,  and   those  the   most 
emphatic  ones,  from  the  imported  stock! 

It  is  an  important  fact,  that  while  we  can  readily  frame 
a  sentence  wholly  of  Anglo-Saxon,  we  cannot  do  so  with 
words  entirely  Latin,  because  the  determinative  particles, 
—  the  bolts,  pins,  and  hinges  of  the  structure, —  must  be 
Saxon.  Macaulay,  in  his  famous  contrast  of  Dr.  Johnson's 
conversational  language  with  that  of  his  writings,  has  viv- 
idly illustrated  the  superiority  of  a  Saxon-English  to  a 
highly  Latinized  diction.  "The  expressions  which  came 
first  to  his  tongue  were  simple,  energetic,  and  picturesque. 
When  he  wrote  for  publication,  he  did  his  sentences  out 
of  English  into  Johnsonese.  '  When  we  were  taken  up 
stairs,'  says  he  in  one  of  his  letters  from  the  Hebrides, 
'  a  dirty  fellow  bounced  out  of  the  bed  on  which  one  of 
us  was  to  lie.'  This  incident  is  recorded  in  his  published 
Journey  as  follows :  '  Out  of  one  of  the  beds  on  which  we 
were  to  repose,  started  up,  at  our  entrance,  a  man  as  black 
as  a  Cyclops  from  the  forge.'  Sometimes,"  Macaulay  adds, 
"  Johnson  translated  aloud.  '  The  Rehearsal,'  he  said,  '  has 
not  wit  enough  to  keep  it  sweet;'  then,  after  a  pause,  'It 
has  not  vitality  enough  to  preserve  it  from  putrefaction.' " 
Doubtless  Johnson,  like  Robertson,  Hume,  and  Gibbon, 
thought  that  he  was  refining  the  language  by  straining  it 
through  the  lees  of  Latin  and  Greek,  so  as  to  imbue  it 
with  the  tone  and  color  of  the  learned  tongues,  and  clear 
it  of  the  barbarous  Saxon;  while  real  purity  rather  springs 
from  such  words  as  are  our  own,  and  peculiar  to  our 
fatherland.  Nevertheless,  the  elephantine  diction  of  the 
Doctor  proved,  in  the  end,  a  positive  blessing  to  the  lan- 
guage :  for  by  pushing  the  artificial  or  classic  system  to 


180  WORDS;    THEIR    USE   AND   ABUSE. 

an  extreme,  it  brought  it  into  disrepute,  and  led  men  to 
cultivate  again  the  native  idiom. 

In  conclusion,  to  sum  up  our  views  of  the  matter,  we 
would  say  to  every  young  writer, —  give  no  fantastic  pref- 
erence to  either  Saxon  or  Latin,  the  two  great  wings  on 
which  our  magnificent  English  soars  and  sings,  for  you  can 
spare  neither.  The  union  of  the  two  gives  us  an  afflu- 
ence of  synonymes  and  a  nicety  of  discrimination  which  no 
homogeneous  tongue  can  boast.  Never  use  a  Romanic  word 
when  a  Teutonic  one  will  do  as  well;  for  the  former  car- 
ries a  comparatively  cold  and  conventional  signification  to 
an  English  ear.  Between  the  sounding  Latin  and  the 
homely,  idiomatic  Saxon,  there  is  often  as  much  difference 
in  respect  to  a  power  of  awakening  associations,  as  between 
a  gong  and  a  peal  of  village  bells.  Pleasant  though  it  be  to 
read  the  pages  of  one  who  writes  in  a  foreign  tongue,  as 
it  is  pleasant  to  visit  distant  lands,  yet  there  is  always 
the  charm  of  home,  with  all  its  witchery,  in  the  good  old 
Anglo-Saxon  of  our  fathers.  Of  the  words  that  we  heard 
in  our  childhood,  there  are  some  which  have  stored  up  in 
them  an  ineffable  sweetness  and  flavor  which  make  them 
precious  ever  after;  there  are  others  which  are  words  of 
might,  of  power, —  old,  brawny,  large -meaning  words, 
heavily  laden  with  associations, —  which,  when  they  strike 
the  imagination,  awaken  tender  and  tremulous  memories, 
obscure,  subtle,  and  yet  most  powerful.  Our  language  is 
essentially  Teutonic;  the  whole  skeleton  of  it  is  thoroughly 
So;  all  its  grammatical  forms,  all  its  most  common  and 
necessary  words,  are  still  identical  with  that  old  mother 
tongue  whose  varying  forms  lived  on  the  lips  of  Arminius 
and  of  Hengest,  of  Harold  of  Norway,  and  of  Harold  of 
England,  of  Alaric,  of  Alboin,  and  of  Charles  the  Great. 


SAXON   WORDS,    OR   ROMANIC?  181 

On  the  other  hand,  never  scruple  to  use  a  Romanic  word 
when  the  Saxon  will  not  do  as  well;  that  is,  do  not  over- 
Teutonize  from  any  archaic  pedantry,  but  use  the  strongest, 
the  most  picturesque,  or  the  most  beautiful  word,  from 
whatever  source  it  may  come.  The  Latin  words,  though 
less  home-like,  must  nevertheless  be  deemed  as  truly  den- 
izen in  the  language  as  the  Saxon, —  as  being  no  alien 
interlopers,  but  possessing  the  full  right  of  citizenship. 
Perhaps  of  all  our  writers  Shakspeare  may  be  deemed  in 
this  matter  the  student's  best  friend.  No  one  better  knows 
how  far  the  Saxon  can  go,  or  so  often  taxes  its  utmost 
resources;  yet  no  one  better  knows  its  poverty  and  weak- 
ness; and,  therefore,  while  in  treating  homely  and  familiar 
themes  he  uses  simple  words,  and  shows  by  his  total  absti- 
nence from  Latin  words  in  some  of  his  most  beautiful 
passages,  that  he  understands  the  monosyllabic  music  of 
our  tongue,  yet  in  his  loftiest  flights  it  .is  on  the  broad 
pinions  of  the  Roman  eagle  that  he  soars,  and,  we  shall 
find,  if  we  regard  him  closely,  that  every  feather  is  plucked 
from  its  wingr. 


182  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE   SECRET   OF   APT   WORDS. 

Le  style  c'est  de  1'  homme. —  BUPFON. 

Altogether  the  style  of  a  writer  is  a  faithful  representative  of  his  mind; 
therefore,  if  any  man  wish  to  write  a  clear  style,  let  him  first  be  clear  in  his 
thoughts;  and  if  he  would  write  in  a  noble  style,  let  him  first  possess  a  noble 
Boul.—  Goih-HE. 

So  long  as  no  words  are  uttered  but  in  faithfulness,  so  long  the  art  of  lan- 
guage goes  on  exalting  itself;  but  the  moment  it  is  shaped  and  chiselled  on 
external  principles,  it  falls  into  frivolity,  and  perishes.  ...  No  noble  or  right 
style  was  ever  yet  founded  but  but  of  a  sincere  heart.— KUSKIN. 

IT  was  a  saying  of  the  wily  diplomatist,  Talleyrand,  that 
language  was  given  to  man  to  conceal  his  thought. 
There  is  a  class  of  writers  at  the  present  day  who  seem  to 
be  of  the  same  opinion, —  sham  philosophers  for  the  most 
part,  who  have  an  ambition  to  be  original  without  the 
capacity,  and  seek  to  gain  the  credit  of  soaring  to  the 
clouds  by  shrouding  familiar  objects  in  mist.  As  all  objects 
look  larger  in  a  fog,  so  their  thoughts  "  loom  up  through  the 
haze  of  their  style  with  a  sort  of  dusky  magnificence  that 
is  mistaken  for  sublimity."  This  style  of  writing  is  some- 
times called  "transcendental";  and  if  by  this  is  meant  that 
it  transcends  all  the  established  laws  of  rhetoric,  and  all 
ordinary  powers  of  comprehension,  the  name  is  certainly 
a  happy  one.  It  is  a  remark  often  made  touching  these 
shallow-profound  authors,  "  What  a  pity  that  So-and-so 
does  not  express  thoughts  so  admirable  in  intelligible 
English!" — whereas,  in  fact,  but  for  the  strangeness  and 
obscurity  of  the  style,  which  fills  the  ear  while  it  famishes 


THE    SECRET   OF    APT    WORDS.  183 

the  mind,  the  matter  would  seem  commonplace.  The  sim- 
ple truth  is,  that  the  profoundest  authors  are  always  the 
clearest,  and  the  chiaro-oscuro  which  these  transcendent- 
alists  affect,  instead  of  shrouding  thoughts  which  mankind 
cannot  well  afford  to  lose,  is  but  a  cloak  for  their  intel- 
lectual nakedness, —  the  convenient  shelter  for  meagreness 
of  thought  and  poverty  of  expression.  As  the  banks  and 
shoals  of  the  sea  are  the  ordinary  resting-place  of  fogs. 
so  is  it  with  thought  and  language;  the  cloud  almost  in- 
variably indicates  the  shallow. 

But,  whether  language  be  or  be  not  fitted  to  cloak  our 
ideas,  as  Talleyrand  and  Goldsmith  before  him  supposed, 
there  are  few  persons  to  whom  it  has  not  seemed  at  times 
inadequate  to  express  them.  How  many  ideas  occur  to  us 
in  our  daily  reflections,  which,  though  we  toil  after  them 
for  hours,  baffle  all  our  attempts  to  seize  them  and  render 
them  comprehensible?  Who  has  not  felt,  a  thousand  times, 
the  brushing  wings  of  great  thoughts,  as,  like  startled 
birds,  they  have  swept  by  him, —  thoughts  so  swift  and  so 
many-hued  that  any  attempt  to  arrest  or  describe  them 
seemed  like  mockery?  How  common  it  is,  after  reflecting 
on  some  subject  in  one's  study,  or  a  lonely  walk,  till  the 
whole  mind  has  become  heated  and  filled  with  the  ideas  it 
suggests,  to  feel  a  descent  into  the  veriest  tameness  when 
attempting  to  embody  those  ideas  in  written  or  spoken 
words!  A  thousand  bright  images  lie  scattered  in  the 
fancy,  but  we  cannot  picture  them;  glimpses  of  glorious 
visions  appear  to  us,  but  we  cannot  arrest  them;  question- 
able shapes  float  by  us,  but,  when  we  question  them,  they 
will  not  answer.  Even  Byron,  one  of  the  greatest  masters 
of  eloquent  expression,  who  was  able  to  condense  into  one 
word,  that  fell  like  a  thunderbolt,  the  power  and  anguish 


184  WOBDS  ;    THEIK    USE   AND    ABUSE. 

of  emotion,  experienced  the  same  difficulty,  and  tells  us  in 
lines  of  splendid  declamation: 

"  Could  I  embody  and  unbosom  now 
That  which  is  most  within  me  —  could  I  wreak 
My  thoughts  upon  expression,  and  thus  throw 
Soul,  heart,  mind,  passions,  feelings,  strong  or  weak, 
All  that  I  would  have  sought,  and  all  I  seek, 
Bear,  know,  feel,  and  yet  breathe  — into  one  word, 
And  that  one  word  were  lightning,  I  would  speak; 
But.  as  it  is,  I  live  and  die  unheard, 
With  a  most  voiceless  thought,  sheathing  it  as  a  sword." 

So,  too,  that  great  verbal  artist,  Tennyson,  complains: 

"I  sometimes  hold  it  half  a  sin 
To  put  in  words  the  grief  I  feel; 
For  words,  like  Nature,  half  reveal, 
And  half  conceal  the  soul  within." 

De  Quincey  truly  remarks  that  all  our  thoughts  have 
not  words  corresponding  to  them  in  our  yet  imperfectly 
developed  nature,  nor  can  ever  express  themselves  in  acts, 
but  must  lie  appreciable  by  God  only,  like  the  silent 
melodies  in  a  great  musician's  heart,  never  to  roll  forth 
from  harp  or  organ. 

"  The  sea  of  thought  is  a  boundless  sea, 
Its  brightest  gems  are  not  thrown  on  the  beach; 
The  waves  that  would  tell  of  the  mystery 
Die  and  fall  on  the  shore  of  speech." 

The  Germans  have  coined  a  phrase  to  characterize  a 
class  of  persons  who  have  conception  without  expression, — 
gifted,  thoughtful  men,  lovers  of  goodness  and  truth,  who 
have  no  lack  of  ideas,  but  who  hesitate  and  stammer  when 
they  would  put  them  into  language.  Such  men  they  term 
men  of  "  passive  genius."  Their  minds  are  like  black 
glass,  absorbing  all  the  rays  of  light,  but  unable  to  give 
out  any  for  the  benefit  of  others.  Jean  Paul  calls  them 
"  the  dumb  ones  of  earth,"  for,  like  Zachariah,  they  have 
visions  of  high  import,  but  are  speechless  when  they  would 


THE   SECRET   OF   APT   WOEDS.  185 

tell  them.  The  infirmity  of  these  dumb  ones,  is,  however,  the 
infirmity,  in  a  less  degree,  of  all  men,  even  the  most  fluent; 
for  there  are  thoughts  which  mock  at  all  attempts  to  ex- 
press them,  however  "  well-languaged  "  the  thinker  may  be. 
It  is  not  true,  then,  that  language  is,  as  Vinet  character- 
izes it,  "lapensde  devenue  matiere;"  for  the  very  expression 
involves  a  contradiction.  Words  are  nothing  but  sym- 
bols,—  imperfect,  too,  at  best, —  and  to  make  the  symbol  in 
any  way  a  measure  of  the  thought  is  to  bring  down  the 
infinite  to  the  measure  of  the  finite.  It  is  true  that  our 
words  mean  more  than  it  is  in  their  power  to  express, — 
shadow  forth  far  more  than  they  can  define;  yet,  when 
their  capacity  has  been  exhausted,  there  is  much  which 
they  fail,  not  only  to  express,  but  even  to  hint.  There  are 
abysses  of  thought  which  the  plummet  of  language  can 
never  fathom.  Like  the  line  in  mathematics,  which  con- 
tinually approaches  to  a  curve,  but,  though  produced  for- 
ever, does  not  cut  it,  language  can  never  be  more  than  an 
asymptote  to  thought.  Expression,  even  in  Shakspeare, 
has  its  limits.  No  power  of  language  enables  man  to 
reveal  the  features  of  the  mystic  Isis,  on  whose  statue  was 
inscribed:  "I  am  all  which  hath  been,  which  is,  and  shall 
be,  and  no  mortal  hath  ever  lifted  my  veil." 

"Pull  oft 

Onr  thoughts  drown  speech,  like  to  a  foaming  force 
Which  thunders  down  the  echo  it  creates: 
Words  are  like  the  sea-shells  on  the  shore;  they  show 
Where  the  mind  ends,  and  not  how  far  it  has  been." 

Notwithstanding   all  this,  however,  there    is   truth  in 
the  lines  of  Boileau: 

"Selon  que  notre  idee  est  plus  ou  moins  obscure, 
L'expression  la  suit,  ou  moins  nette,  on  plus  pnre; 
Ce  que  Ton  conceit  bien  s'enonce  clairement, 
Et  les  mots  pour  le  dire  arrivent  aisement." 


186  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

In  spite  of  the  complaints  of  those  who,  like  the  great 
poets  we  have  quoted,  have  expressed  in  language  of 
wondrous  force  and  felicity  their  feeling  of  the  inadequacy 
of  language,  it  is  doubtless  true,  as  a  general  thing,  that 
impression  and  expression  are  relative  ideas;  that  what 
we  clearly  conceive  we  can  clearly  convey;  and  that  the 
failure  to  embody  our  thoughts  is  less  the  fault  of  our 
mother  tongue  than  of  our  own  deficient  genius.  What 
subject,  indeed,  is  there  in  the  whole  boundless  range  of 
imagination,  which  some  English  author  has  not  treated  in 
his  mother  tongue  with  a  nicety  of  definition,  an  accuracy 
of  portraiture,  a  gorgeousness  of  coloring,  a  delicacy  of 
discrimination,  and  a  strength  and  force  of  expression 
which  fall  scarcely  short  of  perfection  itself?  Is  there 
not  something  almost  like  sorcery  in  the  potent  spell  which 
some  of  these  mighty  magicians  of  language  are  able  to 
exercise  over  the  soul?  Yet  the  right  arrangement  of  the 
right  words  is  the  whole  secret  of  the  witchery, —  a  charm 
within  the  reach  of  any  one  of  equal  genius.  Possess 
yourself  of  the  necessary  ideas,  and  feel  them  deeply,  and 
you  will  not  often  complain  of  the  barrenness  of  language. 
You  will  find  it  abounding  in  riches, —  exuberant  beyond 
the  demand  of  your  intensest  thought.  "  The  statue  is 
not  more  surely  included  in  the  block  of  marble,  than  is 
all  conceivable  splendor  of  utterance  in  'Webster's  Una- 
bridged.'" As  Goethe  says: 

"Be  thine  to  seek  the  honest  gain, 

No  shallow-sounding  fool; 
Sound  sense  finds  utterance  for  itself, 

Without  the  critic's  rule; 
If  to  your  heart  your  tongue  be  true, 

Why  hunt  for  words  with  much  ado? 

But  we  hear  some  one  say, —  is  this  the  only  secret  of 


THE   SECRET   OF   APT   WORDS.  187 

apt  words?  Is  nothing  more  necessary  to  be  done  by  one 
who  would  obtain  a  command  of  language?  Does  not  Dr. 
Blair  tell  us  to  study  the  "  Spectator,"  if  we  would  learn 
to  write  well;  and  does  not  Dr.  Johnson,  too,  declare  that 
"whoever  wishes  to  obtain  an  English  style,  familiar  but 
not  coarse,  and  elegant  but  not  ostentatious,  must  give  his 
days  and  nights  to  the  volumes  of  Addison?"  Yes,  and 
it  is  a  pity  that  Johnson  did  not  act  upon  his  own  advice. 
That  it  is  well  for  a  writer  to  familiarize  himself  with 
the  best  models  of  style,  (models  sufficiently  numerous  to 
prevent  that  mannerism  which  is  apt  to  result  from  uncon- 
scious imitation,  when  he  is  familiar  with  but  one,)  nobody 
can  doubt.  A  man's  vocabulary  depends  largely  on  the 
company  he  keeps;  and  without  a  proper  vocabulary  no. 
man  can  be  a  good  writer.  Words  are  the  material  that 
the  author  works  in,  and  he  must  use  as  much  care  in 
their  selection  as  the  sculptor  in  choosing  his  marble  or 
the  painter  in  choosing  his  colors.  By  profound  study  of 
the  masterpieces  of  literature  he  may  not  only  enrich  his 
vocabulary,  but  learn  in  some  degree  the  secret  of  their 
charm,  detect  his  own  deficiencies,  and  elevate  and  refine 
his  taste  to  a  degree  that  can  be  reached  in  no  other  way. 
But  to  suppose  that  a  good  style  can  be  acquired  by  imitat- 
ing any  one  writer,  or  any  set  of  writers,  is  one  of  the 
greatest  follies  that  can  be  imagined. 

Such  a  supposition  is  based  on  the  notion  that  fine 
writing  is  an  addition  from  without  to  the  matter  treated 
of, —  a  kind  of  ornament  superinduced,  or  luxury  indulged 
in,  by  one  who  has  sufficient  genius ;  whereas  the  brilliant 
or  powerful  writer  is  not  one  who  has  merely  a  copious 
vocabulary,  and  can  turn  on  at  will  any  number  of 
splendid  phrases  and  swelling  sentences,  but  he  is  one 


188  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

who  has  something  to  say,  and  knows  how  to  say  it. 
Whether  he  dashes  off  his  compositions  at  a  heat,  or  elab- 
orates them  with  fastidious  nicety  and  care,  he  has  but  one 
aim,  which  he  keeps  steadily  before  him.  and  that  is  to  give 
forth  what  is  in  him.  From  this  very  earnestness  it  follows 
that  whatever  be  the  brilliancy  of  his  diction  or  the  har- 
mony of  his  periods, —  whether  it  blaze  with  the  splendors 
of  a  gorgeous  rhetoric,  or  take  the  ear  prisoner  with  its 
musical  surprises, —  he  never  makes  these  an  end,  but  has 
always  the  charm  of  an  incommunicable  simplicity. 

Such  a  person  "  writes  passionately  because  he  feels 
keenly;  forcibly,  because  he  conceives  vividly;  he  sees  too 
clearly  to  be  vague;  he  is  too  serious  to  be  otiose;  he  can 
analyze  his  subject,  and  therefore  he  is  rich;  he  embraces 
it  as  a  whole  and  in  parts,  and  therefore  he  is  consistent: 
he  has  a  firm  hold  of  it,  and  therefore  he  is  luminous. 
When  his  imagination  wells  up,  it  overflows  in  ornament; 
when  his  heart  is  touched,  it  thrills  along  his  verse.  He 
always  has  the  right  word  for  the  right  idea,  and  never  a 
word  too  much.  If  he  is  brief,  it  is  because  few  words 
suffice;  when  he  is  lavish  of  them,  still  each  word  has  its 
mark,  and  aids,  not  embarrasses,  the  vigorous  march  of  his 
elocution.  He  expresses  what  all  feel,  but  what  all  cannot 
say,  and  his  sayings  pass  into  proverbs  among  the  people, 
and  his  phrases  become  household  words  and  idioms  of 
their  daily  speech,  which  is  tessellated  with  the  rich  frag- 
ments of  his  language,  as-  we  see  in  foreign  lands  the 
marbles  of  Roman  grandeur  worked  into  the  walls  and 
pavements  of  modern  palaces."  * 

It  follows  from  all  this  that  there  is  no  model  style, 
and  that  the  kind  of  style  demanded  in  any  composition 

*  "  The  Idea  of  a  University."  by  J.  H.  Newman. 


THE   SECKET   OF   APT   WORDS.  189 

depends  upon  the  man  and  his  theme.  The  first  law  of 
good  writing  is  that  it  should  be  an  expression  of  a  man's 
self, —  a  reflected  image  of  his  own  character.  If  we  know 
what  the  man  is,  we  know  what  his  style  should  be.  If 
it  mirrors  his  individuality,  it  is,  relatively,  good;  if  it  is 
not  a  self-portraiture,  it  is  bad,  however  polished  its 
periods,  or  rhythmical  its  cadences.  The  graces  and  witch- 
eries of  expression  which  charm  us  in  an  original  writer, 
offend  us  in  a  copyist.  Style  is  sometimes,  though  not 
very  happily,  termed  the  dress  of  thought.  It  is  really,  as 
Wordsworth  long  ago  declared,  the  incarnation  of  thought. 
In  Greek,  the  same  word,  Logos,  stands  for  reason  and 
speech. —  and  why?  Because  they  cannot  be  divided;  be- 
cause thought  and  expression  are  one.  They  each  co-exist, 
not  one  with  the  other,  but  in  and  through  the  other.  Not 
till  we  can  separate  the  soul  and  the  body,  life  and  motion, 
the  convex  and  concave  of  a  curve,  shall  we  be  able  to 
divorce  thought  from  the  language  which  only  can  embody 
it.  But  allowing,  for  the  moment,  that  style  is  the  verbal 
clothing  of  ideas,  who  but  the  most  poverty-stricken  person 
would  think  of  wearing  the  clothes  of  another?  It  is  true 
that  there  are  certain  general  qualities,  such  as  clearness, 
force,  flexibility,  simplicity,  variety,  which  all  good  styles 
will  alike  possess,  just  as  all  good  clothing  will  have  cer- 
tain qualities  in  common.  But  for  all  men  to  clothe 
their  thoughts  in  the  same  manner  would  be  as  foolish  as 
for  a  giant  to  array  himself  in  the  garments  of  a  dwarf,  a 
stout  man  in  those  of  a  thin,  or  a  brunette  in  those  of  a 
blonde.  Robert  Hall,  when  preaching  in  early  life  at 
Cambridge,  England,  for  a  short  time  aped  Dr.  Johnson; 
but  he  soon  saw  the  folly  of  it.  "I  might  as  well  have 
attempted,"  said  he,  "to  dance  a  hornpipe  in  the  cum- 


190  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

brous  costume  of  Gog  and  Magog.  My  puny  thoughts 
could  not  sustain  the  load  of  words  in  which  I  tried  to 
clothe  them." 

It  is  with  varieties  of  style  as  with  the  varieties  of  the 
human  face,  or  of  the  leaves  of  the  forest;  while  they 
are  obvious  in  their  general  resemblance,  yet  there  are 
never  two  indistinguishably  alike.  Sometimes  the  differ- 
ences are  very  slight, —  so  minute  and  subtle,  as  almost  to 
defy  characterization;  yet,  like  the  differences  in  musical 
styles  which  closely  resemble  each  other,  they  are  felt  by 
the  discerning  reader,  and  so  strongly  that  he  will  scarcely 
mistake  the  authorship,  even  on  a  single  reading.  Men  of 
similar  natures  will  have  similar  styles ;  but  think  of  Waller 
aping  the  gait  of  Wordsworth,  or  Leigh  Hunt  that  of 
Milton!  Can  any  one  conceive  of  Hooker's  style  as  slip- 
shod,—  of  Dryden's  as  feeble  and  obscure, —  of  Gibbon's  as 
mean  and  vulgar, —  of  Burke's  as  timid  and  creeping, — 
of  Carlyle's  as  dainty  and  mincing, —  of  Emerson's  as 
diffuse  and  pointless, —  or  of  Napier's  as  lacking  pictur- 
esqueness,  verve,  and  fire? 

There  are  some  writers  of  a  quiet,  even  temperament, 
whose  sentences  flow  gently  along  like  a  stream  through  a 
level  country,  that  hardly  disturbs  the  stillness  of  the  air 
by  a  sound;  there  are  others  vehement,  rapid,  redundant, 
that  roll  on  like  a  mountain  torrent  forcing  its  way  over 
all  obstacles,  and  filling  the  valleys  and  woods  with  the  echoes 
of  its  roar.  One  author,  deep  in  one  place  and  shallow 
in  another,  reminds  you  of  the  Ohio,  here  unfordable,  and 
there  full  of  sand-bars, —  now  hurrying  on  with  rapid 
current,  and  now  expanding  into  lovely  lakes,  fringed  with 
forests  and  overhung  with  hills;  another,  always  brimming 
with  thought,  reminds  you  of  the  Mississippi,  which  rolls 


THE   SECKET   OF   APT   WORDS.      .  191 

onward  the  same  vast  volume,  with  no  apparent  diminu- 
tion, from  Cairo  to  New  Orleans.  "  Sydney  Smith,  concise, 
brisk,  and  brilliant,  has  a  manner  of  composition  which 
exactly  corresponds  to  those  qualities;  but  how  would  Lord 
Bacon  look  in  Smith's  sentences?  How  grandly  the  soul 
of  Milton  rolls  and  winds  through  the  arches  and  labyrinths 
of  his  involved  and  magnificent  diction,  waking  musical 
echoes  at  every  new  turn  and  variation  of  its  progress;  but 
how  could  the  thought  of  such  a  light  trifler  as  Gibber 
travel  through  so  glorious  a  maze,  without  being  lost  or 
crushed  in  the  journey?  The  plain,  manly  language  of 
John  Locke  could  hardly  be  translated  into  the  terminology 
of  Kant, —  would  look  out  of  place  in  the  rapid  and 
sparkling  movement  of  Cousin's  periods, —  and  would 
appear  mean  in  the  cadences  of  Dugald  Stewart."* 

Not  only  has  every  original  writer  his  own  style,  which 
mirrors  his  individuality,  but  the  writers  of  every  age 
differ  from  those  of  every  other  age.  Joubert  has  well 
said  that  if  the  French  authors  of  to-day  were  to  write  as 
men  wrote  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  their  style  would 
lack  truthfulness,  for  the  French  of  to-day  have  not  the 
same  dispositions,  the  same  opinions,  the  same  manners. 
A  woman  who  should  write  like  Madame  Sevigne  would  be 
ridiculous,  because  she  is  not  Madame  Sevigne.  The  more 
one's  writing  smacks  of  his  own  character  and  of  the 
manners  of  his  time,  the  more  widely  must  his  style 
diverge  from  that  of  the  writers  who  were  models  only 
because  they  excelled  in  manifesting  in  their  works  either 
the  manners  of  their  own  age  or  their  own  character.  Who 
would  tolerate  to-day  a  writer  who  should  reproduce,  how- 
ever successfully,  the  stately  periods  of  Johnson,  the  mel- 

*  "  Essays  and  Reviews,"  by  Edwin  P.  Whipple. 


192  WORDS ;    THEIR    USE    AND   ABUSE. 

liHuous  lines  of  Pope,  or  the  faultless  but  nerveless  periods 
of  Addison?  The  style  that  is  to  please  to-day  must  be 
dense  with  meaning  and  full  of  color;  it  must  be  sug- 
gestive, sharp,  and  incisive.  So  far  is  imitation  of  the  old 
masterpieces  from  being  commendable,  that,  as  Joubert 
says,  good  taste  itself  permits  one  to  avoid  imitating  the 
best  styles,  for  taste,  even  good  taste,  changes  with  man- 
ners,— "  Le  bon  gout  lui-meme,  en  ce  cas,  permet  qu'on 
s'^carte  du  meilleur  gout,  car  le  gout  change  avec  les 
moeurs,  meme  le  bon  gout." 

Let  no  man,  then,  aim  at  the  cultivation  of  style  for 
style's  sake,  independently  of  ideas,  for  all  such  aims  will 
result  in  failure.  To  suppose  that  noble  or  impressive 
language  is  a  communicable  trick  of  rhetoric  and  accent, 
is  one  of  the  most  mischievous  of  fallacies.  Every  writer 
has  his  own  ideas  and  feelings, —  his  own  conceptions,  judg- 
ments, discriminations,  and  comparisons, —  which  are  per- 
sonal, proper  to  himself,  in  the  same  sense  that  his  looks, 
his  voice,  his  air,  his  gait,  and  his  action  are  personal. 
If  he  has  a  vulgar  mind,  he  will  write  vulgarly;  if  he  has 
a  noble  nature,  he  will  write  nobly;  in  every  case,  the 
beauty  or  ugliness  of  his  moral  countenance,  the  force  and 
keenness  or  the  feebleness  of  his  logic,  will  be  imaged  in 
his  language.  It  follows,  therefore,  as  Euskin  says,  that 
all  the  virtues  of  language  are,  in  their  roots,  moral;  it 
becomes  accurate,  if  the  writer  desires  to  be  true;  clear,  if 
he  write  with  sympathy  and  a  desire  to  be  intelligible; 
powerful,  if  he  has  earnestness;  pleasant,  if  he  has  a  sense 
of  rhythm  and  order. 

This  sensibility  of  language  to  the  impulses  and  qual- 
ities of  him  who  uses  it;  its  flexibility  in  accommodating 
itself  to  all  the  thoughts,  feelings,  imaginations,  and  aspira- 


THE    SECKET   OF   APT   WORDS.  193 

tions  which  pass  within  him,  so  as  to  become  the  faithful 
expression  of  his  personality,  indicating  the  very  pulsation 
and  throbbing  of  his  intellect,  and  attending  on  his  own  in- 
ward world  of  thought  as  its  very  shadow;  and,  strangest, 
perhaps,  the  magical  power  it  has  to  suggest  the  idea  or 
mood  it  cannot  directly  convey,  and  to  give  forth  an  aroma 
which  no  analysis  of  word  or  expression  reveals, —  is  one 
of  the  marvels  of  human  speech.  The  writer,  therefore, 
who  is  so  magnetized  by  another's  genius  that  he  cannot 
say  anything  in  his  own  way,  but  is  perpetually  imitating 
the  other's  structure  of  sentence  and  turns  of  expression, 
confesses  his  barrenness.  The  only  way  to  make  another's 
style  one's  own  is  to  possess  one's  self  of  his  mind  and 
soul.  If  we  would  reproduce  his  peculiarities  of  diction, 
we  must  first  acquire  the  qualities  that  produced  them. 
"Language,"  says  Groldwin  Smith,  "is  not  a  musical  instru- 
ment into  which,  if  a  fo'oi  breathe,  it  will  make  melody. 
Its  tones  are  evoked  only  by  the  spirit  of  high  or  tender 
thought;  and  though  truth  is  not  always  eloquent,  real 
eloquence  is  always  the  glow  of  truth."  As  Sainte-Beuve 
says  of  the  plainness  and  brevity  of  Napoleon's  style, — 
"  Pretendre  imiter  le  precede  de  diction  du  heros  qui  sut 
abreger  Caesar  lui-meme  .  .  .  il  convient  cV  avoir  fait  d'aussi 
</r<i>nl<'x  clioses  pour  avoir  le  droit  d'etre  aussi  nu." 

It  is  not  imitation,  but  general  culture, — as  another  has 
said,  the  constant  submission  of  a  teachable  apprehensive 
mind  to  the  influence  of  minds  of  the  highest  order,  in 
daily  life  and  books, —  that  brings  out  upon  style  its  dain- 
tiest bloom  and  its  richest  fruitage.  "  So  in  the  making 
of  a  fine  singer,  after  the  voice  has  been  developed,  and 
the  rudiments  of  vocalization  have  been  learned,  farther 
instruction  is  almost  of  no  avail.  •  But  the  frequent  hear- 
9 


194  WOKDS;    THEIR    USE   AND   ABl>h. 

ing  of  the  best  music  given  by  the  best  singers  and  in- 
strumentalists,—  the  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  art  and 
literature, —  will  develop  and  perfect  a  vocal  style  in  one 
who  has  the  gift  of  song ;  and,  for  any  other,  all  the  instruc- 
tion of  all  the  musical  professors  that  ever  came  out  of 
Italy  will  do  no  more  than  teach  an  avoidance  of  positive 
errors  in  musical  grammar."* 

The  Cabalists  believed  that  whoever  found  the  mystic 
word  for  anything  attained  to  as  absolute  mastery  over 
that  thing  as  did  the  robbers  over  the  door  of  their  cave 
in  the  Arabian  tale.  The  converse  is  true  of  expression; 
for  he  who  is  thoroughly  possessed  of  his  thought  becomes 
master  of  the  word  fitted  to  express  it,  while  he  who  has 
but  a  half-possession  of  it  vainly  seeks  to  torture  out  of 
language  the. secret  of  that  inspiration  which  should  be  in 
himself.  The  secret  of  force  in  writing  or  speaking  lies  not 
in  Blair's  "  Rhetoric  "  or  Roget's  "  Thesaurus,'' — not  in  hav- 
ing a  copious  vocabulary,  or  a  dozen  words  for  every  idea, 
—  but  in  having  something  that  you  earnestly  wish  to 
and  making  the  parts  of  speech  vividly  conscious  of  it. 
Phidias,  the  great  Athenian  sculptor,  said  of  one  of  his 
pupils  that  he  had  an  inspired  thumb,  because  the  model- 
ing clay  yielded  to  its  careless  touch  a  grace  of  sweep 
which  it  refused  to  the  utmost  pains  of  others.  So  he  who 
has  thoroughly  possessed  himself  of  his  thought,  will  not 
have  to  hunt  through  his  dictionary  for  apt  and  expressive 
words,— a  method  which  is  but  an  outside  remedy  for  an 
inward  defect, — but  will  find  language  eagerly  obedient  to 
him,  as  if  every  word  should  say. 

"Bid  me  discourse;  I  will  enchant  thine  ear;" 

and  fit  expressions,  as  Milton  says,  "  like  so  many  nimble 

*  "  Words  and  their  Uses."  by  Richard  Grant  White. 


THE   SECRET   OF   APT    WORDS.  195 

and  airy  servitors,  will  trip  about  him  at  command,  and, 
in  well-ordered  tiles,  fall  aptly  into  their  own  places."  It 
was  the  boast  of  Dante  that  no  word  had  ever  forced  him 
to  say  what  he  would  not,  though  he  had  forced  many  a 
word  to  say  what  it  would  not;  and  so  will  every  writer, 
who  as  vividly  conceives  and  as  deeply  feels  his  theme,  be 
able  to  conjure  out  of  words  their  uttermost  secret  of 
power  or  pathos. 

The  question  has  been  sometimes  discussed  whether  the 
best  style  is  a  colorless  medium,  which,  like  good  glass. 
only  lets  the  thought  be  distinctly  seen,  or  whether  it  im- 
parts a  pleasure  apart  from  the  ideas  it  conveys.  There 
are  those  who  hold  that  when  language  is  simply  transpa- 
rent,—  when  it  conies  to  us  so  refined  of  all  its  dross,  so 
spiritualized  in  its  substance,  that  we  lose  sight  of  it  as  a 
vehicle,  and  the  thought  stands  out  with  clearness  in  all  its 
proportions. —  we  are  at  the  very  summit  of  the  literary 
art.  This  is  the  character  of  Southey's  best  prose,  and  of 
Paley's  writing,  whose  statement  of  a  false  theory  is  so 
lucid  that  it  becomes  a  refutation.  There  are  writers, 
however,  who  charm  us  by  their  language,  apart  from  the 
ideas  it  conveys.  There  is  a  kind  of  mysterious  perfume 
about  it,  a  delicious  aroma,  which  we  keenly  enjoy,  but  for 
which  we  cannot  account.  Poetry  often  possesses  a  beauty 
wholly  unconnected  with  its  meaning.  Who  has  not  ad 
mired,  independently  of  the  sense,  its  "jewels,  five  words 
long,  that,  on  the  stretched  forefinger  of  all  time,  sparkle 
forever?"  There  are  passages  in  which  the  mere  cadence 
of  the  words  is  by  itself  delicious  to  a  delicate  ear,  though 
we  cannot  tell  how  and  why.  We  are  conscious  of  a 
strange,  di'eamy  sense  of  enjoyment,  such  as  one  feels  when 
lying  upon  the  grass  in  a  June  evening,  while  a  brook 


196  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

tinkles  over  stones  among  the  sedges  and  trees.  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  could  not  hear  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase  with- 
out his  blood  being  stirred  as  by  the  sound  of  a  trumpet. 
Boyle  felt  a  tremor  at  the  utterance  of  two  verses  of 
Lucan;  and  Spence  declares  that  he  never  repeated  par- 
ticular lines  of  djlicate  modulation  without  a  shiver  in  his 
blood,  not  to  be  expressed.  Who  is  not  sensible  of  certain 
magical  effects,  altogether  distinct  from  the  thoughts,  in 
some  of  Coleridge's  weird  verse,  in  Keats's  ''  Nightingale," 
and  in  the  grand  harmonies  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Jeremy 
Taylor,  Ruskin,  and  De  Quincey? 

Perspicuity,  or  transparency  of  style,  is,  undoubtedly, 
the  first  law  of  all  composition;  but  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  vividness,  which  was  the  ruling  conception  of  the 
Greeks  with  regard  to  this  property  of  style,  is  not  quite  as 
essential.  Style,  it  has  been  well  said,  is  not  only  a 
medium;  it  is  also  a  form.  It  is  not  enough  that  the 
thoughts  be  seen  through  a  clear  medium;  they  must  be 
seen  in  a  distinct  shape.  It  is  not  enough  that  truth  be 
visible  in  a  clear,  pure  air;  the  atmosphere  must  not  only 
be  crystalline  and  sparkling,  but  the  things  in  it  must  be 
bounded  and  defined  by  sharply-cut  lines.* 

A  style  may  be  as  transparent  as  rock- water,  and  yet  the 
thoughts  be  destitute  of  boldness  and  originality.  The 
highest  degree  of  transparency,  however,  can  be  attained 
only  by  the  writer  who  has  thoroughly  mastered  his  theme, 
and  whose  whole  nature  is  stirred  by  it.  As  that  exquisite 
material  through  which  we  gaze  from  our  windows  on  the 
beauties  of  nature,  obtains  its  crystalline  beauty  after 
undergoing  the  furnace, —  as  it  was  melted  by  fire  before 
the  rough  particles  of  sand  disappeared, —  so  it  is  with 

*  "  Homiletics  and  Pastoral  Theology,"  by  W.  G.  Shedd,  D.D. 


THE   SECRET   OF   APT   WORDS.  197 

language.  It  is  only  a  burning  invention  that  can  make  it 
transparent.  A  powerful  imagination  must  fuse  the  harsh 
elements  of  composition  until  all  foreign  substances  have 
disappeared,  and  every  coarse,  shapeless  word  has  been 
absorbed  by  the  heat,  and  then  the  language  will  brighten 
into  that  clear  and  unclouded  style  through  which  the 
most  delicate  conceptions  of  the  mind  and  the  faintest 
emotions  of  the  heart  are  visible. 

How  many  human  thoughts  have  baffled  for  generations 
every  attempt  to  give  them  expression!  How  many  ideas 
and  opinions  are  there,  which  form  the  basis  of  our  daily 
reflections,  the  matter  for  the  ordinary  operations  of  our 
minds,  which  were  toiled  after  perhaps  for  ages,  before  they 
were  seized  and  rendered  comprehensible!  How  many 
subjects  are  there  which  we  ourselves  have  grasped  at,  as 
if  we  saw  them  floating  in  an  atmosphere  just  above  us, 
and  found  the  arm  of  our  intellect  just  too  short  to  reach 
them:  and  then  comes  a  happier  genius,  who,  in  a  lucky 
moment,  and  from  some  vantage  ground,  arrests  the 
meteor  in  its  flight,  and,  grasping  the  floating  phantom, 
drags  it  from  the  skies  to  earth;  condenses  that  which 
was  but  an  impalpable  coruscation  of  spirit;  fetters  that 
which  was  but  the  lightning-glance  of  thought;  and,  hav- 
ing so  mastered  it,  bestows  it  as  a  perpetual  possession  and 
heritage  on  mankind! 

The  arrangement  of  words  by  great  writers  on  the 
printed  page  has  sometimes  been  compared  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  soldiers  on  the  field;  and  if  it  is  interesting  to  see 
how  a  greav  general  marshals  his  regiments,  it  is  certainly 
not  less  so  to  see  how  the  Alexanders  and  Napoleons  of 
letters  marshal  their  verbal  battalions  on  the  battle-fields  of 
thought.  Foremost  among  those  who  wield  despotic  sway 


198  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

over  the  domain  of  letters,  is  my  lord  Bacon,  whose  words 
are  like  a  Spartan  phalanx,  closely  Compacted, —  almost 
crowding  each  other,  so  close  are  their  files, —  and  all  mov- 
ing in  irresistible  array,  without  confusion  or  chasm,  now 
holding  some  Thermopylae  of  new  truth  against  some 
scholastic  Xerxes,  now  storming  some  ancient  Malakoff  of 
error,  but  always  with  "  victory  sitting  eagle- winged  on 
their  crests."  A  strain  of  music  bursts  on  your  ear,  sweet 
as  is  Apollo's  lute,  and  lo!  Milton's  dazzling  files,  clad  in 
celestial  panoply,  lifting  high  their  gorgeous  ensign,  which 
"shines  like  a  meteor,  streaming  to  the  wind,''  —  "brenth- 
ing  united  force  and  fixed  thought," — come  moving  on  "in 
perfect  phalanx,  to  the  Dorian  mood  of  flutes  and  soft 
recorders."  Next  comes  Chiilingworth,  with  his  glittering 
rapier,  all  rhetorical  rule  and  flourish,  according  to  the 
schools, — passado,  montanso,  staccato, —  one,  two,  three, — 
the  third  in  your  bosom.  Then  stalks  along  Chatham,  with 
his  two-handed  sword,  striking  with  the  edge,  while  he 
pierces  with  the  point,  and  stuns  with  the  hilt,  and  wield- 
ing the  ponderous  weapon  as  easily  as  you  would  a  flail. 
Next  strides  Johnson,  with  elephantine  tread,  with  the  club 
of  logic  in  one  hand  and  a  revolver  in  the  other,  hitting 
right  and  left  with  antithetical  blows,  and,  "when  his  pistol 
misses  fire,  knocking  you  down  with  the  butt  end  of  it." 
Burke,  with  lighted  linstock  in  hand,  stands  by  a  Lancaster 
gun;  he  touches  it,  and  forth  there  burst,  with  loud  and 
ringing  roar,  missiles  of  every  conceivable  description, — 
chain-shot,  stones,  iron-darts,  spikes,  shells,  grenadoes,  tor- 
pedoes, and  balls,  that  cut  down  everything  before  them. 
Close  after  him  steals  Jeffrey,  armed  cap-a-pie, —  carrying  a 
tomahawk  in  one  hand  and  a  scalping-knife  in  the  other, — 
steeped  to  the  eye  in  fight,  cunning  of  fence,  master  of  his 


THE   SECRET   OF   APT   WORDS.  199 

weapon  and  merciless  in  its  use,  and  "  playing  it  like  a 
tongue  of  flame"  before  his  trembling  victims.  There  is 
Brougham,  slaying  half-a-dozen  enemies  at  once  with  a  tre- 
mendous Scotch  claymore;  Macaulay,  running  under  his 
opponent's  guard,  and  stabbing  him  to  the  heart  with  the 
heavy  dagger  of  a  short,  epigrammatic  sentence;  Hugh 
Elliot,  cracking  his  enemies'  skulls  with  a  sledge-hammer, 
or  pounding  them  to  jelly  with  his  huge  fists;  Sydney 
Smith,  firing  his  arrows,  feathered  with  fancy  and  pointed 
with  the  steel  of  the  keenest  wit;  Disraeli,  armed  with 
an  oriental  scimitar,  which  dazzles  while  it  kills;  Em- 
erson, transfixing  his  adversaries  with  a  blade  of  transcen- 
dental temper,  snatched  from  the  scabbard  of  Plato;  and 
Carlyle,  relentless  iconoclast  of  shams,  who  "gangs  his  ain 
gait,"  armed  with  an  antique  stone  axe,  with  which  he 
smashes  solemn  humbugs  as  you  would  drugs  with  a  pestle 
and  mortar. 


200  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 


CHAPTER   IX. 
THE  SECRET  OF  APT  WORDS  —  (continued}. 

"To  acquire  a  few  tongues,"  says  a  French  writer,  "is  the  task  of  a  lew 
years;  but  to  be  eloquent  in  one  is  the  labor  of  a  life."— COLTON. 

When  words  are  restrained  by  common  usage  to  a  particular  sense,  to  run 
up  to  etymology,  and  construe  them  by  a  dictionary,  is  wretchedly  ridicu- 
lous.—  JEREMY  COLLIER. 

Where  do  the  words  of  Greece  and  Rome  excel, 

That  England  may  not  please  the  ear  as  well? 

What  mighty  magic's  in  the  place  or  air, 

That  all  perfection  neffds  must  centre  there?— CHURCHILL. 

IT  is  an  interesting  question  connected  with  the  subject 
of  style,  whether  a  knowledge  of  other  languages  is 
necessary  to  give  an  English  writer  a  full  command  of  his 
own.  Among  the  arguments  urged  in  behalf  of  the  study 
of  Greek  and  Latin  in  our  colleges,  one  of  the  commonest 
is  the  supposed  absolute  necessity  of  a  knowledge  of  those 
tongues  to  one  who  would  speak  and  write  his  own  lan- 
guage effectively.  The  English  language,  we  are  re- 
minded, is  a  composite  one,  of  whose  words  thirty  per  cent, 
are  of  Roman  origin,  and  nearly  five  per  cent,  of  Greek; 
and  is  it  not  an  immense  help,  we  are  asked,  to  a  full  and 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  meanings  of  the  words  we  use, 
to  know  their  entire  history,  including  their  origin?  Is 
not  the  many-sided  Goethe  an  authority  on  this  subject. 
and  does  he  not  tell  us  that  "  wer  fremde  spnicht-  nicht 
kennt,  weiss  nichts  von  seinen  eigenen." — "He  who  is 
acquainted  with  no  foreign  tongues,  knows  nothing  of  his 
own1'?  Have  we  not  the  authority  of  one  of  the  earliest 


THE   SECKET   OF   APT    WORDS.  201 

of  English  schoolmasters,  Roger  Ascham,  for  the  opinion 
that,  "  even  as  a  hawke  fleeth  not  hie  with  one  wing,  even 
so  a  man  reacheth  not  to  excellency  with  one  tongue"? 

In  answering  the  general  question  in  the  negative,  we 
do  not  mean  to  question  the  value  or  profound  interest  of 
philological  studies,  or  to  express  any  doubt  concerning 
their  utility  as  a  means  of  mental  discipline.  The  value 
of  classical  literature  as  an  instrument  of  education  has 
been  decided  by  an  overwhelming  majority  of  persons  of 
culture.  We  cannot,  without  prejudice  to  humanity,  sep- 
arate the  present  from  the  past.  The  nineteenth  century 
strikes  its  roots  into  the  centuries  gone  by,  and  draws 
nutriment  from  them.  Our  whole  literature  is  closely 
connected  with  that  of  the  ancients,  draws  its  inspiration 
from  it,  and  can  be  understood  only  by  constant  reference 
to  it.  As  a  means  of  that  encyclopedic  culture,  of  that 
thorough  intellectual  equipment,  which  is  one  of  the  most 
imperious  demands  of  modern  society,  an  acquaintance 
with  foreign,  and  especially  with  classic,  literature,  is  abso- 
lutely indispensable;  for  the  records  of  knowledge  and  of 
thought  are  rnany-tongued,  and  even  if  a  great  writer 
could  have  wreaked  his  thoughts  upon  expression  in  an- 
other language,  it  is  certain  that  another  mind  can  only  in 
a  few  cases  adequately  translate  them.  It  is  only  by  the 
study  of  different  languages  and  different  literatures, 
ancient  as  well  as  modern,  that  we  can  escape  that  nar- 
rowness of  thought,  that  Chinese  cast  of  mind,  which  char- 
acterizes those  persons  who  know  no  language  but  their 
own,  and  learn  to  distinguish  what  is  essentially,  univer- 
sally and  eternally  good  and  true  from  what  is  the  result 
of  accident,  local  circumstances,  or  the  fleeting  circum- 
stances of  the  time.  It  is  useless  to  say  that  we  know 
9* 


202  WOKUS;   THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

human  nature  thoroughly,  if  we  know  nothing  of  an- 
tiquity; and  we  can  know  antiquity  only  by  study  of  the 
originals.  Mitford,  Grote  and  Mommsen  differ,  and  the 
reader  who  consults  them  with  no  knowledge  of  Greek  or 
Latin  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  last  author  he  has  perused. 
It  has  been  frequently  remarked  that  every  school  of 
thinkers  has  it  mannerism  and  its  mania,  for  which  there 
is  no  cure  but  intercourse  with  those  who  are  free  from 
them,  and  constant  access  to  the  models  of  perfect  and  im- 
mutable excellence  which  other  ages  have  produced  and  all 
ages  have  acknowledged. 

The  question,  however,  is  not  about  the  general  educa- 
tional value  of  classical  studies,  but  whether  they  are 
indispensable  to  him  who  would  write  or  speak  English 
with  the  highest  force,  elegance,  and  accuracy.  We  think 
they  are  not.  In  the  first  place,  we  deny  that  a  knowledge 
of  the  etymologies  of  words, —  of  their  meanings  a  hundred 
or  five  hundred  years  ago, —  is  essential  to  their  proper  use 
now.  How  am  I  aided  in  the  use  of  the  word  "villain" 
by  knowing  that  it  once  meant  peasant, —  in  the  use  of 
"wince"  by  knowing  that  it  meant  kick, —  in  the  use  of 
"  brat,"  "  beldam,"  and  "  pedant,"  by  knowing  that  they 
meant,  respectively,  child,  fine  lady,  and  tutor, —  in  the  use' 
of  "  meddle,"  by  knowing  that  formerly  it  had  no  oifensive 
meaning,  and  that  one  could  meddle  even  with  his  own 
affairs?  Am  I  more  or  less  likely  to  use  "ringleader"  cor- 
rectly to-day,  from  learning  that  Christ  is  correctly  spoken 
of  by  an  old  divine  as  "the  ringleader  of  our  salvation"? 
Shall  I  be  helped  in  the  employment  of  the  word  mnxki-t 
by  knowing  that  it  was  once  the  name  of  a  small  hawk, 
or  in  the  use  of  the  word  tragedy  by  knowing  that  it  is 
connected  in  some  way  with  the  Greek  word  for  "a  goat"? 


THE    SECRET   OF   APT   WORDS.  203 

Facts  like  these  are  of  deep  interest  to  all,  and  of  high 
value  to  the  scholar;  but  how  is  the  knowledge  of  them 
necessary  that  one  may  speak  or  write  well? 

The  question  with  the  man  who  addresses  his  fellow- 
man  by  tongue  or  pen  to-day,  is  not  what  ought  to  be,  or 
formerly  was,  the  meaning  of  a  word,  but,  what  is  it  now? 
Indeed,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  a  reference  to  the  old, 
obsolete  meanings, —  the  roots  and  derivations, —  of  words, 
does  not,  as  Archbishop  Whately  insists,  tend  to  con- 
fusion, and  prove  rather  a  hindrance  than  a  help  to  the 
correct  use  of  our  tongue.  Words  not  only,  for  the  most 
part,  ride  very  slackly  at  anchor  on  their  etymologies, 
borne,  as  they  are,  hither  and  thither  by  the  shifting  tides 
and  currents  of  usage,  but  they  often  break  away  from 
their  moorings  altogether.  The  knowledge  of  a  man's  ante- 
cedents may  help  us  sometimes  to  estimate  his  present  self; 
but  the  knowledge  of  what  a  word  meant  three  or  twenty 
centuries  ago  may  only  mislead  us  as  to  its  meaning  now. 
"  Hypostasis,"  "substance,"'  and  "understanding''  are 
words  that  etymologically  have  precisely  the  same  signifi- 
cation; yet  have  they,  as  they  are  now  used,  the  least 
similarity  of  meaning?  Will  it  be  said  that  words  be- 
come more  vivid  and  picturesque. —  that  we  get  a  firmer 
and  more  vigorous  grasp  of  their  meaning, —  when,  as 
Coleridge  advises,  we  present  to  our  minds  the  visual 
images  that 'form  their  primary  meanings?  The  reply  is, 
that  long  use  deadens  us  to  the  susceptibility  of  such 
images,  and  in  not  one  case  in  a  thousand,  probably,  are 
they  noticed.  How  many  college  graduates  think  of  a 
mixer  as  being  etymologically  a  "miserable"  man,  of  a  sav- 
age, as  one  living  in  "a  wood.''  or  of  a  desultory  reader  as 
one  who  leaps  from  one  study  to  another,  as  a  circus  rider 


204  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

leaps  from  horse  to  horse?  A  distinguished  poet  once  con- 
fessed that  the  Latin  imago  first  suggested  itself  to  him  as 
the  root  of  the  English  word  "imagination"  when,  after 
having  been  ten  years  a  versifier,  he  was  asked  by  a  friend 
to  define  this  most  important  term  in  the  critical  vocabu- 
lary of  his  art.  "  We  have  had  to  notice  over  and  over 
again,"  says  Mr.  Whitney  in  his  late  work  on  "  The  Life 
and  Growth  of  Language,"  "  the  readiness  on  the  part  of 
language-users  to  forget  origins,  to  cast  aside  as  cumbrous 
rubbish  the  etymological  suggestiveness  of  a  term,  and 
concentrate  force  upon  the  new  and  more  adventitious  tie. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  fundamental  and  valuable  tenden- 
cies in  name-making;  it  constitutes  an  essential  part  of  the 
practical  availability  of  language." 

If  a  knowledge  of  Greek  and  Latin  is  necessary  to  him 
who  would  command  all  the  resources  of  our  tongue,  how 
comes  it  that  the  most  consummate  mastery  of  the  English 
language  is  exhibited  by  Shakspeare?  Will  it  be  said  that 
his  writings  prove  him  to  have  been  a  classical  scholar; 
that  they  abound  in  facts  and  allusions  which  imply  an 
intimate  acquaintance  with  the  masterpieces  of  Greek  and 
Roman  literature?  We  answer  that  this  is  a  palpable 
begging  of  the  question.  By  the  same  reasoning  we  can 
prove  that  scores  of  English  authors,  who,  we  know  posi- 
tively, never  read  a  page  of  Latin  or  Greek,  were,  never- 
theless, classical  scholars.  By  similar  logic  we  can  prove 
that  Shakspeare  followed  every  calling  in  life.  Lawyers 
vouch  for  his  acquaintance  with,  law;  physicians  for  his 
skill  in  medicine;  mad-doctors  for  his  knowledge  of  the 
phenomena  of  mental  disease ;  naturalists  assert  positively, 
from  the  internal  evidence  of  his  works,  that  he  was  a 
botanist  and  an  entomologist;  bishops,  that  he  was  a  theo- 


THE   SECRET   OF   APT    WORDS.  205 

logian;  and  claims  have  been  put  forth  for  his  dexterity  in 
cutting  up  sheep  and  bullocks.  Ben  Jonson-  tells  us  that 
he  had  "small  Latin  and  less  Greek1';  another  contempo- 
rary, that  he  had  "little  Latin  and  no  Greek."  "Small 
Latin,"  indeed,  it  must  have  been,  which  a  youth  could 
have  acquired  in  his  position,  who  married  and  entered 
upon  the  duties  of  active  life  at  eighteen.  The  fact  that 
translations  were  abundant  in  the  poet's  time,  and  that  all 
the  literature  of  that  day  was  steeped  in  classicism,  will 
fully  account  for  Shakspeare's  knowledge  of  Greek  and 
Roman  history,  as  well  as  for  the  classical  turns  of  expres- 
sion which  we  find  in  his  plays. 

But  it  may  be  said  that  Shakspeare,  the  oceanic,  the 
many-souled,  was  phenomenal,  and  that  no  rule  can  be 
based  on  the  miracles  of  a  cometary  genius  who  has  had  no 
peer  in  the  ages.  What  shall  we  say,  then,  to  Izaak  Wal- 
ton? Can  purer,  more  idiomatic,  or  more  attractive 
English  be  found  within  the  covers  of  any  book  than  that  of 
"The  Complete  Angler"?  Among  all  the  controversial- 
ists of  England,  is  there  one  whose  words  hit  harder, — 
are  more  like  cannon-balls, —  than  those  of  Cobbett?  By 
universal  concession  he  was  master  of  the  whole  vocabulary 
of  invective,  and  in  narration  his  pen  is  pregnant  with 
the  freshness  of  green  fields  and  woods;  yet  neither  he, 
nor  "honest  Izaak,"  ever  dug  up  a  Greek  root,  or  un- 
earthed a  Latin  derivation.  Again,  what  shall  we  say  of 
Keats,  who  could  not  read  a  line  of  Greek,  yet  who  was 
the  most  thoroughly  classical  of  all  English  authors, — 
whose  soul  was  so  saturated  with  the  Greek  spirit,  that 
Byron  said  "  he  was  a  Greek  himself."  Or  what  will  the 
classicists  do  with  Lord  Erskine,  confessedly  the  greatest 
forensic  orator  since  Demosthenes-?  He  learned  but  the 


•Jix;  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  A  NO  A  in:  si-;. 

elements  of  Latin,  and  in  Greek  went  scarcely  beyond  the 
alphabet;  but  he  devoted  himself  in  youth  with  intense 
ardor  to  the  study  of  Milton  and  Shakspeare,  committing 
whole  pages  of  the  former  to  memory,  and  so  familiarizing 
himself  with  the  latter  that  he  could  almost,  like  Por.son, 
have  held  conversations  on  all  subjects  for  days  together  in 
the  phrases  of  the  great  English  dramatist.  It  was  here 
that  he  acquired  that  fine  choice  of  words,  that  richness  of 
thought,  and  gorgeousness  of  expression,  that  beautiful 
rhythmus  of  his  sentences,  which  charmed  all  who  heard 
him. 

If  one  must  learn  English  through  the  Greek  and  Latin, 
how  shall  we  account  for  the  admirable, —  we  had  almost 
said,  inimitable, —  style  of  Franklin?  Before  he  knew  any- 
thing of  foreign  languages  he  had  formed  his  style,  and 
gained  a  wide  command  of  words  by  the  study  of  the  lies  I 
English  models.  Is  the  essayist,  Edwin  P.  Whipple,  a 
master  of  the  English  language?  He  was  not,  we  believe, 
classically  educated,  yet  it  would  be  hard  to  name  an  Amer- 
ican author  who  has  a  greater  command  of  all  the  resources 
of  expression.  His  style  varies  in  excellence, —  sometimes, 
perhaps,  lacks  simplicity;  but,  as  a  rule,  it  is  singularly 
copious,  nervous,  and  suggestive,  and  clear  as  a  pebbled  rill. 
What  is  the  secret  of  this  command  of  our  tongue?  It 
is  his  familiarity  with  our  English  literature.  His  sleep- 
less intellect  has  fed  and  fattened  on  the  whole  race 
of  English  authors,  from  Chaucer  to  Currer  Bell.  The 
profound,  sagacious  wisdom  of  Bacon,  and  the  nimble, 
brilliant  wit  of  Sydney  Smith;  the  sublime  mysticism  of 
Sir  Thomas  Browne,  and  the  rich,  mellow,  tranquil  beauty 
of  Taylor;  Jonson's  learned  sock  and  Heywood's  ease;  the 
gorgeous,  organ-toned  eloquence  of  Milton,  and  the  close, 


THE    SECRET   OF   APT   WORDS.  207 

bayonet-like  logic  of  Chillingworth ;  the  sweet-blooded  wit 
of  Fuller,  and  Butler's  rattling  fire  of  fun;  Spenser's  vo- 
luptuous beauty,  and  the  lofty  rhetoric,  scorching  wit,  and 
crushing  argument  of  South;  Pope's  neatness,  brilliancy, 
and  epigrammatic  point,  and  Dryden's  energy  and  "  full- 
resounding  line";  Byron's  sublime  unrest  and  bursts  of 
misanthropy,  and  Wordsworth's  deep  sentiment  and  sweet 
humanities;  Shelley's  wild  imaginative  melody,  and  Scott's 
picturesque  imagery  and  antiquarian  lore;  the  polished 
witticisms  of  Sheridan,  and  the  gorgeous  periods  of  Burke, 
—  with  all  these  writers,  and  every  other  of  greater  or 
lesser  note,  even  those  in  the  hidden  nooks  and  crannies 
of  our  literature,  he  has  held  converse,  and  drawn  from 
them  expressions  for  every  exigency  of  his  thought. 

To  all  these  examples  we  may  add  one,  if  possible,  still 
more  convincing,  that  of  the  late  Hugh  Miller,  who,  as 
Professor  Marsh  justly  remarks,  had  few  contemporaneous 
superiors  as  a  clear,  forcible,  accurate  and  eloquent  writer, 
and  who  uses  the  most  cumbrous  Greek  compounds  as  freely 
as  monosyllabic  English  particles.  His  style  is  literally  the 
despair  of  all  other  English  scientific  writers;  yet  it  is 
positively  certain  that 'he  was  wholly  ignorant  of  all  lan- 
guages but  that  in  which  he  wrote,  and  its  Northern 
provincial  dialects. 

As  to  the  oft-quoted  saying  of  Goethe,  to  which  the 
objector  is  so  fond  of  referring,  we  may  say  with  Professor 
Marsh,  that,  "  if  by  knowledge  of  a  language  is  meant  the 
power  of  expressing  or  conceiving  the  laws  of  a  language 
in  formal  rules,  the  opinion  may  be  well-founded;  but,  if 
it  refers  to  the  capacity  of  understanding,  and  skill  in 
properly  using  our  own  tongue,  all  observation  shows  it  to 
be  very  wide  of  the  truth."  Goethe  himself,  the  same 


208  WORDS;    THEIR    USE    AND    ABUSE. 

authority  declares,  was  an  indifferent  linguist;  he  appar- 
ently knew  little  of  the  remoter  etymological  sources  of  his 
own  tongue,  or  the  special  philologies  of  the  cognate  lan- 
guages; and  "it  is  difficult  to  trace  any  of  the  excellencies 
of  his  marvellously  felicitous  style  to  the  direct  imitation, 
or  even  the  unconscious  influence,  of  foreign  models."  * 
But  he  was  a  profound  student  of  the  great  Ger  111:111 
writers  of  the  sixteenth  century;  and  hence  his  works  are 
a  test  example  in  refutation  of  the  theory  that  ascribes 
so  exaggerated  a  value  to  classical  studies. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  which  throws  a  flood  of  light 
upon  this  subject,  that  the  greatest  masters  of  style  in  all 
the  ages  were  the  Greeks,  who  yet  knew  no  word  of  any 
language  but  their  own.  In  the  most  flourishing  period 
of  their  literature,  they  had  no  grammatical  system,  nor 
did  they  ever  make  any  but  the  most  trivial  researches  in 
etymology.  The  wise  and  learned  nations  among  the 
ancients,  says  Locke,  "  made  it  a  part  of  education  to  cul- 
tivate their  own,  not  foreign  languages.  The  Greeks 
counted  all  'other  nations  barbarous,  and  had  a  contempt 
for  their  languages.  And  though  the  Greek  learning  grew 
in  credit  amongst  the  Romans,  .  .  .'yet  it  was  the  Roman 
tongue  that  was  made  the  study  of  their  youth;  their  own 
language  they  were  to  make  use  of,  and  therefore  it  was 
their  own  language  they  were  instructed  and  exercised  in." 
Demosthenes,  the  greatest  master  of  the  Greek  language, 
and  one  of  the  mightiest  masters  of  expression  the  world 
has  seen,  knew  no  other  tongue  than  his  own.  He  mod- 
elled his  style  after  that  of  Thucydides,  whose  wonderful 
compactness,  terseness,  and  strength  of  diction  were  de- 
rived from  no  study  of  old  Pelasgic,  Phoenician,  Persian,  or 

*"Lectur«8  on  the  English  Language." 


THE   SECRET   OF   APT   WORDS.  209 

other  primitive  etymologies  of  the  Attic  speech, —  of  which 
he  knew  nothing, —  but  the  product  of  his  own  marvellous 
genius  wreaking  itself  upon  expression. 

No  riches  are  without  inconvenience.  The  men  of 
many  tongues  almost  inevitably  lose  their  peculiar  raciness 
of  home-bred  utterance,  and  their  style,  like  their  words, 
has  a  certain  polyglot  character.  It  has  been  observed  by 
an  acute  Oxford  professor,  that  the  Romans,  in  exact  pro- 
portion to  their  study  of  Greek,  paralyzed  some  of  the 
finest  powers  of  their  own  language.  Schiller  tell  us  that 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  as  little  as  possible  in 
foreign  languages,  because  it  was  his  business  to  write 
German,  and  he  thought  that,  by  reading  other  languages, 
he  should  lose  his  nicer  perceptions  of  what  belonged  to  his 
own.  Dryden  attributed  most  of  Cowley's  defects  to  his 
continental  associations,  and  said  that  his  losses  at  home 
overbalanced  his  gains  from  abroad.  Thomas  Moore,  who 
was  a  fine  classical  scholar,  tells  us  that  the  perfect  purity 
with  which  the  Greeks  wrote  their  own  language,  was 
justly  attributed  to  their  entire  abstinence  from  every 
other.  It  is  a  saying  as  old  as  Cicero,  that  women,  being 
accustomed  solely  to  their  native  tongue,  usually  speak 
and  write  it  with  a  grace  and  purity  surpassing  those  of 
men.  UA  man  who  thinks  the  knowledge  of  Latin  essen- 
tial to  the  purity  of  English  diction,"  says  Macaulay, 
"  either  has  never  conversed  with  an  accomplished  woman, 
or  does  not  deserve  to  have  conversed  with  her.  We  are 
sure  that  all  persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of  hearing 
public  speaking  must  have  observed,  that  the  orators  who 
are  fondest  of  quoting  Latin  are  by  no  means  the  most 
scrupulous  about  marring  their  native  tongue.  We  could 
mention  several  members  of  Parliament,  who  never  fail  to 


210  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

usher  in  their  scraps  of  Horace  and  Juvenal  with  half  a 
dozen  false  concords." 

Mr.  Buckle,  in  his  "  History  of  Civilization  in  England," 
does  not  hesitate  to  express  the  opinion  that  "  our  great 
English  scholars  have  corrupted  the  English  language  by 
jargon  so  uncouth  that  a  plain  man  can  hardly  discern 
the  real  lack  of  ideas  which  their  barbarous  and  mottled 
dialect  strives  to  hide."  He  then  adds  that  the  principal 
reason  why  well-educated  women  write  and  converse  in  a 
purer  style  than  well-educated  men,  is  "  because  they  have 
not  formed  their  taste  according  to  those  ancient  classical 
standards,  which,  admirable  as  they  are  in  themselves, 
should  never  be  introduced  into  a  state  of  society  unfitted 
for  them."  To  nearly  the  same  effect  is  the  declaration  of 
that  most  acute  judge  of  style,  Thomas  De  Quincey,  who 
says  that  if  you  would  read  our  noble  language  in  its 
native  beauty,  picturesque  form,  idiomatic  propriety,  racy 
in  its  phraseology,  delicate  yet  sinewy  in  its  composition, — 
you  must  steal  the  mail-bags,  and  break  open  the  women's 
letters.  On  the  other  hand,  who  has  forgotten  what  havoc 
Bentley  made  when  he  laid  his  classic  hand  on  "  Paradise 
Lost"?  What  prose  style,  always  excepting  that  of  the 
Areopagitica,  is  worse  for  imitation  than  that  of  Milton, 
with  its  long,  involved,  half- rhythmical  periods,  "dragging. 
like  a  wounded  snake,  their  slow  length  along"?  Yet 
Bentley  and  Milton,  whose  minds  were  imbued,  saturated 
with  Greek  literature  through  and  through,  were  prob- 
ably the  profoundest  classical  scholars  that  England  can 
boast. 


THE   FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  211 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FALLACIES   IX    WORDS. 

Gardons-nous  de  1'  equivoque !  — PAUL  Louis  COURIER. 

Words  are  grown  so  false,  I  am  loathe  to  prove  reason  with  them.— 
SHAKSPEARE. 

The  mixture  of  those  things  by  speech,  which  by  nature  are  divided,  is 
the  mother  of  all  error.— HOOKER. 

One  vague  inflection  spoils  the  whole  with  doubt; 

One  trivial  letter  ruins  all,  left  out; 

A  knot  can  choke  a  felon  into  clay; 

A  knot  will  save  him,  spelt  without  the  k; 

The  smallest  word  has  some  unguarded  spot, 

And  danger  lurks  in  i  without  a  dot.— O.-  W.  HOLMES. 

ON  some  of  the  great  American  rivers,  where  lumber- 
ing operations  are  carried  on,  the  logs,  in  floating 
down,  often  get  jammed  up  here  and  there,  and  it  becomes 
necessary  to  find  the  timber  which  is  a  kind  of  keystone 
and  stops  all  the  rest.  Once  detach  this,  and  away  dash 
the  giant  trunks,  thundering  headlong,  helter-skelter  down 
the  rapids.  It  is  just  this  office  which  he  who  defines  his 
terms  accurately,  performs  for  the  dead-locked  questions 
of  the  day.  Half  the  controversies  of  the  world  are  dis- 
putes about  words.  How  often  do  we  see  two  persons 
engage  in  what  Cowper  calls  "  a  duel  in  the  form  of  a 
debate," — tilting  furiously  at  each  other  for  hours, — 
slashing  with  syllogisms,  stabbing  with  enthymemes,  hook- 
ing with  dilemmas,  and  riddling  with  sorites, —  with  no 
apparent  prospect  of  ever  ending  the  fray,  till  suddenly 
it  occurs  to  one  of  them  to  define  precisely  what  he  means 


212  WORDS;    THEIR    USE    AXD    AlU'SK. 

by  a  term  on  which  the  discussion  hinges:  when  it  is  found 
that  the  combatants  had  no  cause  for  quarrel,  having 
agreed  in  opinion  from  the  beginning!  The  juggle  of  all 
sophistry  lies  in  employing  equivocal  expressions, —  that  is, 
such  as  may  be  taken  in  two  different  meanings,  using  a 
word  in  one  sense  in  the  premises,  and  in  another  sense  in 
the  conclusion.  Frequently  the  word  on  which  a  cont  ro- 
ve rsy  turns  is  unconsciously  made  to  do  double  duty,  and 
under  a  seeming  unity  there  lurks  a  real  dualism  of 
meaning,  from  which  endless  confusions  arise.  Accurately 
to  define  such  a  term  is  to  provide  one's  self  with  a  master- 
key  which  unlocks  the  whole  dispute. 

Who  is  not  familiar  with  the  fierce  contests  of  the 
Nominalists  and  Realists,  which  raged  so  long  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  which,  beginning  with  words,  came  at 
last  to  blows?  Yet,  properly  understood,  they  maintained 
only  opposite  poles  of  the  same  truth ;  and  were,  therefore, 
both  right,  and  both  wrong.  The  Nominalists,  it  has  been 
said,  only  denied  what  no  one  in  his  senses  would  affirm, 
and  the  Realists  only  contended  for  what  no  one  in  his 
sens?:;  would  deny;  a  hair's  breadth  parted  those  who,  had 
they  understood  each  other's  language,  would  have  had  no 
altercation.  Again,  who  can  tell  how  far  the  clash  of 
opinions  among  political  economists  has  been  owing  to  the 
use  in  opposite  senses  of  a  very  few  words?  Had  Smith, 
Say,  Ricardo,  Malthus,  M'Culloch,  Mill,  began  framing 
their  systems  by  defining  carefully  the  meanings  attached 
by  them  to  certain  terms  used  on  every  page  of  their 
writings, — such  as  Wealth,  Labor,  Capital,  Value,  Supply 
and  Demand,  Over-trading, —  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
they  would  not,  to  some  extent,  have  harmonized  in  opin- 
ion, instead  df  giving  Us  theories  as  opposite  as  tlio  poles 


THE   FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  213 

How  many  fallacies  have  grown  out  of  the  ambiguity 
of  the  word  money,  which,  instead  of  being  a  simple  and 
indivisible  term,  has  at  least  half-a-dozen  different  mean- 
ings! Money  may  be  either  specie,  bank-notes,  or  both 
together,  or  credit,  or  capital,  or  capital  offered  for  loan. 
A  merchant  is  said  to  fail  "  for  lack  of  money,''  when,  in 
fact,  he  fails  because  he  lacks  credit,  capital,  or  merchan- 
dise, money  having  no  more  to  do  with  the  matter  than  the 
carts  or  railway  wagons  by  which  the  merchandise  is  trans- 
ported. Again:  money  is  spoken  of  as  yielding  interest. 
which  it  cannot  do,  since  wherever  it  is.  whether  in  a  bank, 
in  one's  pocket,  or  in  a  safe,  it  is  dead  capital.  The  con- 
fusion of  the  terms  wealth  and  money  gave  birth  to  "  the 
mercantile  system,"  one  of  the  greatest  curses  that  ever 
befell  Europe.  As  in  popular  language  to  grow  rich  is  to 
accumulate  money,  and  to  grow  poor  is  to  lose  money,  this 
term  became  a  synonyme  for  wealth;  and,  till  recently, 
at  least,  all  the  nations  of  Europe  studied  every  means  of 
accumulating  gold  and  silver  in  their  respective  countries. 
To  accomplish  this  they  prohibited  the  exportation  of 
money,  gave  bounties  on  the  importation,  and  restricted 
the  importation  of  other  commodities,  expecting  thus  to 
produce  "a  favorable  balance  of  trade," — a  conduct  as 
wise  as  that  of  a  shop-keeper  who  should  sell  his  goods 
only  for  money,  and  heard  every  dollar,  instead  of  replacing 
and  increasing  his  stock,  or  putting  his  surplus  capital  at 
interest.  France,  under  Colbert,  acted  upon  this  principle, 
and  Voltaire  extolled  his  wisdom  in  thus  preferring  the 
accumulation  of  imperishable  bullion  to  the  exchange  of  it 
for  articles  which  must,  sooner  or  later,  wear  out.  The 
effect  of  this  fallacy  has  been  to  make  the  nations  regard 
the  wealth  of  their  customers  as  a  source  of  loss  instead  of 


214  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

profit,  and  an  advantageous  market  as  a  curse  instead  of  a 
blessing,  by  which  the  improvement  of  Europe  has  been 
more  retarded  than  by  all  other  causes  put  together. 

So  with  the  mortal  theological  wars  in  which  so  much 
ink  has  been  shed.  The  shelves  of  our  public  libraries 
groan  under  the  weight  of  huge  folios  and  quartos  once 
hurled  at  each  other  by  the  giants  of  divinity,  which  never 
would  have  been  published  but  for  their  confused  notions, 
or  failure  to  discriminate  the  meaning  of  certain  technical 
and  oft-recurring  terms.  Beginning  with  discordant  ideas 
of  what  is  meant  by  the  words  Will,  Necessity,  Unity,  Law, 
Person, —  terms  vital  in  theology, —  the  more  they  argued, 
the  farther  they  were  apart,  and  while  fancying  they  were 
battling  with  real  adversaries,  were,  Quixote-like,  tilting  at 
windmills,  or  fighting  with  shadows,  till  at  last  utter 

"Confusion  umpire  sat. 
And  by  deciding  worse  embroiled  the  fray." 

The  whole  vast  science  of  casuistry,  which  once  occupied 
the  brains  and  tongues  of  the  Schoolmen,  turned  upon  nice, 
hair-splitting  verbal  distinctions,  as  ridiculous  as  the  dis- 
putes of  the  orthodox  Liliputians  and  the  heretical  Blefus- 
cudians  about  the  big  ends  and  the  little  ends  of  the  eggs. 
The  readers  of  Pascal  will  remember  the  fierce  wars  in  the 
Sorbonne  between  the  Jesuits  and  the  Jansenists,  touching 
the  .doctrine  of  "efficacious"  and  "sufficient"  grace.  The 
question  was,  "Whether  all  men  received  from  God  suffi- 
cient grace  for  their  conversion?"  The  Jesuits  maintained 
the  affirmative;  the  Jansenists  insisted  that  this  sufficient 
grace  would  never  be  efficacious,  unless  accompanied  by 
special  grace.  "  Then  the  sufficient  grace,  which  is  not 
efficacious,  is  a  contradiction  in  terms,"  cried  the  Jesuit*: 
"and,  besides,  it  is  a  heresy!"  We  need  not  trace  tin- 


THE    FALLACIES    IN    WORDS.  215 

history  of  the  logomachy  that  followed,  which  Pascal  has 
immortalized  in  his  u  Provincial  Letters," — letters  which 
Do  Maistre  denounces  as  "Les  Menteurs,"  but  which  the 
Jesuits  found  to  be  both  "  sufficient "  and  "  efficacious  "  for 
their  utter  discomfiture.  The  theological  student  will 
recall  the  microscopic  distinctions;  the  fine-spun  attenua- 
tions; the  spider-like  threads  of  meaning;  the  delicate, 
infinitesimal  verbal  shavings  of  the  grave  and  angelic 
doctors;  how  one  subtle  disputant,  with  syllabical  pene- 
tration, would  discover  a  heresy  in  his  opponent's  mono- 
syllables, while  the  other  would  detect  a  schism  in  the 
former's  conjunctions,  till  finally,  after  having  filled  vol- 
umes enough  with  the  controversy  to  form  a  library,  the 
microscopic  point  at  issue,  which  had  long  been  invisible, 
was  whittled  down  to  nothing. 

A  controversy  not  less  memorable  was  that  which  raged 
in  the  church  in  the  third  and  fourth  centuries  between  the 
"  Homoousians  "  and  the  "  Homoiusians  "  concerning  the 
nature  of  Christ.  The  former  maintained  that  Christ  was 
of  the  same  essence  with  the  Father;  the  latter  that  he  was 
of  like  essence, —  a  dispute  which  Boileau  has  satirized  in 
these  witty  lines: 

"  D'nne  syllabe  impic  un  saint  mot  angmente 
Remplit  tons  les  esprits  d'aigreurs  si  menrtrieres  — 
Tu  fls,  dans  une  guerre  et  si  triste  et  si  longne, 
Peril-  taut  de  Chretiens,  martyrs  cCiine  diphthongue f  " 

The  determination  of  the  controversy  depended  on  the 
retention  or  rejection  of  the  diphthong  oz,  or  rather  upon 
the  change  of  the  letter  o  into  /;  and  hence  it  has  been 
asserted  that  for  centuries  Christians  fought  like  tigers, 
and  tore  each  other  to  pieces,  on  account  of  a  single  letter. 
It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  the  dispute,  though  it 
related  to  a  mystery  above  human  comprehension,  was 


216  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  A  HUSK. 

something  more  than  a  verbal  one;  and  though  it  is  easy 
to  ridicule  "  microscopic  theology,"  yet  it  is  evident  that  if 
error  employs  it,  truth  must  do  the  same,  even  if  the  dis- 
tinction be  as  small  as  the  difference  between  two  animal- 
cules fighting  each  other  among  a  billion  of  fellows  in  a 
drop  of  water. 

Disraeli  remarks,  in  his  "  Curiosities  of  Literature,"  that 
there  have  been  few  councils  or  synods  where  the  addition 
or  omission  of  a  word  or  a  phrase  might  not  have  termi- 
nated an  interminable  logomachy.  "  At  the  Council  of  Basle, 
for  the  convenience  of  the  disputants,  John  de  Secubia  drew 
up  a  treatise  of  nndedined  tvords,  chiefly  to  determine  the 
significations  of  the  particles  from,  by,  but,  and  except, 
which  it  seems  were  perpetually  occasioning  fresh  disputes 
among  the  Hussites  and  the  Bohemians.  .  .  In  modern 
times  the  popes  have  more  skillfully  freed  the  church  from 
this  '  confusion  of  words.'  His  holiness  on  one  occasion, 
standing  in  equal  terror  of  the  Court  of  France,  who  pro- 
tected the  Jesuits,  and  of  the  Court  of  Spain,  who  main- 
tained the  cause  of  the  Dominicans,  contrived  a  phrase, 
where  a  comma  or  a  full  stop,  placed  at  the  beginning  or 
the  end,  purported  that  his  holiness  tolerated  the  opinions 
which  he  condemned;  and  when  the  rival  parties  dis- 
patched deputations  to  the  Court  of  Rome  to  plead  for  the 
period,  or  advocate  the  comma,  his  holiness,  in  this  '  confu- 
sion of  words,'  flung  an  unpunctuated  copy  to  the  parties; 
nor  was  it  his  fault,  but  that  of  the  spirit  of  party,  if  the 
rage  of  the  one  could  not  subside  into  a  comma,  nor  that 
of  the  other  close  by  a  full  period!" 

The  art  of  treaty-making  appears  once  to  have  consisted 
in  a  kind  of  verbal  sleight-of-hand ;  and  the  most  dexterous 
diplomatist  was  he  who  had  always  "  an  arriere  pensde, 


THE   FALLACIES   IX   WOEDS.  217 

which  might  fasten  or  loosen  the  ambiguous  expression  he 
he  had  so  cautiously  and  so  finely  inlaid  in  his  mosaic  of 
treachery."  When  the  American  Colonies  refused  to  be 
taxed  by  Great  Britain,  on  the  ground  that  they  were  not 
represented  in  the  House  of  Commons,  a  new  term,  "  vir- 
tual representation,"  was  invented  to  silence  their  clamors. 
The  sophism  was  an  ingenious  one;  but  it  cost  the  mother 
country  a  hundred  millions  sterling,  forty  thousand  lives, 
and  the  most  valuable  of  her  colonial  possessions. 

Hume's  famous  argument  against  miracles  is  based  en- 
tirely upon  a  petitio  principii,  or  begging  of  the  question, 
artfully  concealed  in  an  ambiguous  use  of  the  word  "  expe- 
rience." In  all  our  experience,  he  argues,  we  have  never 
known  the  laws  of  nature  to  be  violated;  on  the  other 
hand,  we  have  had  experience,  again  and  again,  of  the 
falsity  of  testimony;  consequently  we  ought  to  believe  that 
any  amount  of  testimony  is  false  rather  than  admit  the 
occurrence  of  a  miracle.  But  whose  experience  does  Hume 
mean?  Does  he  mean  the  experience  of  all  the  men  that 
ever  lived?  If  so,  he  palpably  begs  the  very  question  in 
dispute?  Does  he  mean  that  a  miracle  is  contrary  to  the 
experience  of  each  inditridual  who  has  never  seen  one? 
This,  as  Whately  shows  in  his  "  Logic,"  would  lead  to  the 
absurdest  consequences.  Not  only  was  the  King  of  Ban- 
tam justified  in  listening  to  no  evidence  for  the  existence 
of  ice,  but  no  man  would  be  authorized,  on  this  principle, 
to  expect  his  own  death.  His  experience  informs  him 
directly,  only  that  others  have  died;  and,  as  he  has  inva- 
riably recovered  when  attacked  by  disease  himself,  why, 
judging  by  his  experience,  should  he  expect  any  future 
sickness  to  be  mortal?  If,  again,  Hume  means  only  that  a 
miracle  is  contrary  to  the  experience  of  men  generally,  as  to 
10 


218  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

what  is  common  and  of  ordinary  occurrence,  the  maxim 
will  only  amount  to  this,  that  false  testimony  is  a  thing  of 
common  occurrence,  and  that  miracles  are  not.  This  is 
true  enough;  but  "  too  general  to  authorize  of  itself  a  con- 
clusion in  any  particular  case.  In  any  other  individual 
question  as  to  the  admissibility  of  evidence,  it  would  be 
reckoned  absurd  to  consider  merely  the  average  chances 
for  the  truth  of  testimony  in  the  abstract,  without  inquir- 
ing what  the  testimony  is,  in  the  particular  instance  before 
us.  As  if,  e.g.,  any  one  had  maintained  that  no  testimony 
could  establish  Columbus's  account  of  the  discovery  of 
America,  because  it  is  more  common  for  travelers  to  lie 
tha*n  for  new  continents  to  be  discovered." 

Again,  the  terms  "  experience  "  and  "  contrary  to  expe- 
rience," imply  a  contradiction  fatal  to  the  whole  argument. 
It  is  clear  that  a  revelation  cannot  be  founded,  as  regards 
the  external  proof  of  its  reality,  upon  anything  else  than 
miracles;  and  these  events  must  be,  in  a  sense,  contrary  to 
nature,  by  the  very  definition  of  the  word.  If  they  entered 
into  the  ordinary  operations  of  nature, —  that  is,  were  sub- 
jects of  experience, —  they  would  no  longer  be  miracles. 

In  the  very  phrase  "  a  violation  of  nature,"  so  cunning- 
ly used  by  skeptics,  there  lurks  a  sophism.  The  expr^cjon 
seems  to  imply  that  they  are  eifects  that  have  no  cause ;  or, 
at  least,  effects  whose  cause  is  foreign  to  the  universe.  But 
if  miracles  disturb  or  interrupt  the  established  order  of 
things,  they  do  so  only  in  the  same  way  that  the  will  of 
man  continually  breaks  in  upon  the  order  of  nature. 
There  is  not  a  day,  an  hour,  nor  a  minute,  in  which  man, 
in  his  contact  with  the  material  word,  does  not  divert  its 
course,  or  give  a  new  direction  to  its  order.  The  order  of 
nature  allows  an  apple-tree  to  produce  fruit;  but  man  can 


THE    FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  219 

girdle  the  tree,  and  prevent  it  from  bearing  apples.  The 
order  of  nature  allows  a  bird  to  wing  its  flight  from  tree 
to  tree;  but  the  sportsman's  rifle  brings  the  bird  to  the 
dust.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this,  it  is  asserted  that  the  smallest 
conceivable  intervention,  disturbing  the  fated  order  of  na- 
ture, linked  as  are  its  parts  indissolubly  from  eternity  in 
one  chain,  must  break  up  the  entire  system  of  the  uni- 
verse! "If  only  the  free  will  of  man  be  acknowledged, 
then,"  as  an  able  writer  says,  "  this  entire  sophism  comes 
down  in  worthless  fragments.  So  long  as  we  allow  our- 
selves to  speak  as  theists,  then  miracles  which  we  attribute 
to  the  will,  the  purpose,  the  power  of  God,  are  not  in  any 
sense  violations  of  nature;  or  they  are  so  in  the  same  sense 
in  which  the  entireness  of  our  human  existence, —  our 
active  converse  with  the  material  world  from  morning  to 
night  of  every  day, —  is-also  a  violation  of  nature." 

A  further  and  not  less  fatal  objection  to  Hume's  argu- 
ment is  that  it  confounds  the  distinction  between  testimony 
and  authority,  between  the  veracity  of  a  witness  and  his 
competency.  The  miraculous  character  of  an  event  is  not 
a  matter  of  intuition  or  observation,  but  of  inference,  and 
cannot  be  decided  by  testimony,  but  only  by  reasoning  from 
the  probabilities  of  the  case.  The  testimony  relates  only 
to  the  happening  of  the  event;  the  question  concerning  the 
nature  of  this  event,  whether  it  is,  or  is  not,  a  violation  of 
physical  law,  can  only  be  determined  by  the  judgment, 
after  weighing  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  No 
event  whatever,  viewed  simply  as  an  event,  as  an  external 
phenomenon,  can  be  so  marvellous  that  sufficient  testimony 
will  not  convince  us  that  it  has  really  occurred.  A  thou- 
sand years  ago  the  conversion  of  five  loaves  of  bread  into 
as  many  hundred,  or  the  raising  of  a  dead  man  to  life, 


220  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

would  not  have  appeared  more  incredible  than  the  trans- 
mission of  a  written  message  five  thousand  miles,  without 
error,  within  a  minute  of  time,  or  from  Europe  to  Amer- 
ica, under  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic;  yet  these  feats, 
miraculous  as  they  would  once  have  seemed,  have  been 
accomplished  by  the  electric  telegraph.  Hume's  argument 
against  miracles,  therefore,  which  is  based  entirely  upon 
an  appeal  to  experience  and  testimony,  without  reference 
to  the  competency  of  the  conclusion  that  the  events  testified 
to  were  supernatural,  is  altogether  inapplicable.* 

Hume's  argument  reminds  us  of  another  verbal  fal- 
lacy,—  that  which  lurks  in  the  phrase  Law  of  Nat ///•>•. 
which  is  sometimes  used  as  if  it  were  equivalent  to  efficient 
cause.  There  are  persons  who  attempt  to  account  for  the 
phenomena  of  the  universe  by  the  mere  agency  of  physical 
laws,  when  there  is  no  such  agency,  except  as  a  figure  of 
speech.  A  "  Law  of  Nature "  is  only  a  general  statement 
concerning  a  large  number  of  similar  individual  facts, 
which  it  simply  describes,  but  in  no  way  accounts  for  or 
explains.  It  is  not  the  Law  of  Gravitation  which  can*-* 
a  stone  thrown  into  the  air  to  fall  to  the  earth ;  but  the 
fact  that  the  stone  so  falls,  is  classed  with  many  other 
facts,  which  are  comprehended  under  the  general  statement 
called  the  Law  of  Gravitation.  "  Second  causes,"  as  phy- 
sical laws  are  sometimes  called,  "  are  no  causes  at  all ;  they 
are  mere  fictions  of  the  intellect,  and  exist  only  in  thought. 
A  cause,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  that  is,  an  efficient 
cause,  as  original  and  direct  in  its  action,  must  be  a  First 
cause;  that  through  which  its  action  is  transmitted  is  not  a 
cause,  but  a  portion  of  the  effect, —  as  it  does  not  act.  but 
is  acted  upon." 

*See  Bowen's  "Logic,"  p.  432. 


THE    FALLACIES    IN   WOKDS.  221 

The  changes  of  meaning  which  words  undergo  in  the 
lapse  of  time,  and  the  different  senses  in  which  the  same 
word  is  used  in  different  countries,  are  a  fruitful  source  of 
misunderstanding  and  error.  Hence  in  reading  an  old 
author  it  is  necessary  to  be  constantly  on  our  guard  lest 
our  interpretations  of  his  words  involve  a  gross  anachron- 
ism, because  his  "  pure  ideas "  have  become  our  "  mixed 
modes."  "  The  titles  of  "tyrant,"  "sophist,"  "parasite," 
were  originally  honorable  distinctions;  and  to  attach  to 
them  their  modern  significations  would  give  us  wholly  false 
ideas  of  ancient  history.  .When  Bishop  Watson,  in  defend- 
ing Christianity  and  the  Bible  from  the  attacks  of  Gibbon 
and  Thomas  Paine,  entitled  his  books  "An  Apology  for 
Christianity"  and  "An  Apology  for  the  Bible,"  he  used  the 
word  "  apology "  in  its  primitive  sense,  and  was  probably 
understood  by  many  of  his  readers  to  be  offering  an  excuse 
for  the  faults  of  the  Scriptures  and  of  the  Christian  system, 
instead  of  a  vindication  of  their  truth.  When  we  find  an 
old  English  writer  characterizing  his  opponent's  argument 
as  impertinent,  we  are  apt  to  attach  to  the  word  the  idea  of 
insolence  or  rudeness;  whereas  the  meaning  is  simply  not 
pertinent  to  the  question.  So  a  magistrate  who  "indiffer- 
ently administered  justice"  meant  formerly  a  magistrate 
who  administered  justice  impartially. 

Were  we  to  use  the  word  gravitation  in  translating  cer- 
tain passages  of  ancient  authors,  we  should  assert  that  the 
great  discovery  of  Newton  had  been  anticipated  by  hun- 
dreds of  years,  though  we  know  that  these  authors  had 
never  dreamed  of  the  law  which  that  word  recalls  to  our 
minds.  Most  of  the  terminology  of  the  Christian  church 
is  made  up  of  words  that  once  had  a  more  general  meaning. 
Bishop  meant  originally  Overseer;  Priest,  or  Presbyter, 


222  WORDS;  THEIU  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

meant  Elder;  Deacon  meant  Administrator;  and  Sacrament, 
a  vow  of  allegiance.  In  reading  the  history  of  France,  an 
American  or  Englishman  is  constantly  in  danger  of  mis- 
apprehension by  associating  with  certain  words  common  to 
the  French  and  English  languages  similar  ideas.  When  he 
reads  of  Parliaments  or  the  Noblesse,  he  is  apt  to  suppose 
that  they  resembled  the  Parliaments  and  Nobility  of  Eng- 
land, when  their  constitution  was  altogether  different. 

Mr.  J.  S.  Mill  observes  that  historians,  travelers,  and 
all  who  write  or  speak  concerning  moral  and  social  pheno- 
mena with  which  they  are  unacquainted,  are  apt  to  con- 
found in  their  descriptions  things  wholly  diverse.  Having 
but  a  scanty  vocabulary  of  words  relating  to  such  pheno- 
mena, and  never  having  analyzed  the  facts  to  which  these 
words  correspond  in  their  own  country,  they  apply  them 
to  other  facts  to  which  they  are  more  or  less  inapplicable. 
Thus,  as  we  have  before  briefly  stated,  the  first  English 
conquerors  of  Bengal  carried  with  them  the  phrase  landed 
proprietor  into  a  country  where  the  rights  of  individuals 
over  the  soil  were  extremely  different  in  degree,  and  even 
in  nature,  from  those  recognized  in  England.  Applying 
the  term  with  all  its  English  associations  in  such  a  state  of 
things, — to  one  who  had  only  a  limited  right  they  gave  an 
absolute  right;  from  another,  because  he  had  not  an  abso- 
lute right,  they  took  away  all  right;  drove  whole  classes  of 
men  to  ruin  and  despair;  filled  the  country  with  banditti; 
created  a  feeling  that  nothing  was  secure;  and  produced, 
with  the  best  intentions,  a  disorganization  which  had  not 
been  produced  in  that  country  by  the  most  ruthless  of  its 
barbarian  invaders.* 

How  often,  in  reading  ancient  history,  are  we  misled  by 

*  "  Logic,"  Book  IV.,  Chap.  5. 


THE    FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  223 

the  application  of  modern  terms  to  past  institutions  and 
events!  Guizot,  in  speaking  of  the  towns  of  Europe  be- 
tween the  fifth  and  tenth  centuries,  cautions  his  readers 
against  concluding  that  their  state  was  one  either  of  posi- 
tive servitude  or  of  positive  freedom.  He  observes  that 
when  a  society  and  its  language  have  lasted  a  considerable 
time,  its  words  acquire  a  complete,  determinate,  and  precise 
meaning, —  a  kind  of  legal  official  signification.  Time  has 
introduced  into  the  signification  of  every  term  a  thousand 
ideas,  which  are  suggested  to  us  every  time  we  hear  it 
pronounced,  but  which,  as  they  do  not  all  bear  the  same 
date,  are  not  all  suitable  at  the  same  time.  Thus  the  terms 
"  servitude  "  and  "  freedom  "  recall  to  our  minds  ideas  far 
more  precise  and  definite  than  the  facts  of  the  eighth, 
ninth,  or  tenth  centuries,  to  which  they  relate.  Whether 
we  say  that  the  towns  in  the  eighth  century  were  in  a  state 
of  "freedom"  or  in  a  state  of  "servitude,"  we  say,  in 
either  case,  too  much;  for  they  were  a  prey  to  the  rapacity 
of  the  strong,  and  yet  maintained  a  certain  degree  of  inde- 
pendence and  importance. 

So,  again,  as  the  same  writer  shows,  the  term  "  civiliza- 
tion "  comprises  more  or  fewer  ideas,  according  to  the  sense, 
popular  or  scientific,  in  which  it  is  used.  "The  popular 
signification  of  a  word  is  formed  by  degrees,  and  while  all 
the  facts  it  represents  are  present.  As  often  as  a  fact 
comes  before  us  which  seems  to  answer  to  the  signification 
of  a  known  term,  this  term  is  naturally  applied  to  it,  and 
thus  its  signification  goes  on  broadening  and  deepening, 
till,  at  last,  all  the  various  facts  and  ideas  which,  from  the 
nature  of  things,  ought  to  be  brought  together  and  em- 
bodied in  the  term,  are  collected  and  embodied  in  it. 
When,  on  the  contrary,  the  signification  of  a  word  is 


224  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

determined  by  science,  it  is  usually  done  by  one  or  a  very 
few  individuals,  who,  at  the  time,  are  under  the  influence 
of  some  particular  fact,  which  has  taken  possession  of  their 
imagination.  Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  scientific  defini- 
tions are,  in  general,  much  narrower,  and,  on  that  very 
account,  much  less  correct,  than  the  popular  significations 
given  to  words." 

It  is  this  continual  incorporation  of  new  facts  and 
ideas, —  circumstances  originally  accidental, —  into  the  per- 
manent significations  of  words,  which  makes  the  dictionary 
definition  of  a  word  so  poor  an  exponent  of  its  real  mean- 
ing. For  a  time  this  definition  suffices;  but  in  the  lapse  of 
time  many  nice  distinctions  and  subtle  shades  of  meaning 
adhere  to  the  word,  which  whoever  attempts  to  use  it  with 
no  other  guide  than  the  dictionary  is  sure  to  confound. 
Hence  the  ludicrous  blunders  made  by  foreigners,  whoso 
knowledge  of  a  language  is  gained  only  from  books;  and 
hence  the  reason  wjry,  in  any  language,  there  are  so  few 
exact  synonymes. 

How  many  persons  who  oppose  compulsory  education, 
have  been  frightened  by  the  word  "  compulsory,"  attaching 
to  it  ideas  of  tyranny  and  degradation !  How  many  persons 
are  there  in  every  community,  who,  in  the  language  of 
Milton, 

"  Bawl  for  freedom  In  their  senseless  mood, 
And  still  revolt  when  the  truth  would  make  them  free; 
License  they  mean  when  they  cry  liberty, 
For  who  love  that,  must  first  be  wise  and  good." 

Who  can  estimate  the  amount  of  mischief  which  has  been 
done  to  society  by  such  phrases  as  "Liberty,  Equality  and 
Fraternity."  and  other  such  "  rabble-charming  words,"  as 
South  calls  them,  "  which  have  so  much  wildfire  wrapped 
up  in  them"?  How  many  persons  who  declaim  passion- 


THE   FALLACIES   IN   WORDS.  225 

ately  about  "  the  majesty  of  the  people,"  "  the  sovereignty 
of  the  people,''  have  ever  formed  for  themselves  any  definite 
conceptions  of  what  they  mean  by  these  expressions? 
Locke  has  well  said  of  those  who  have  the  words  "  Wis- 
dom," "  Glory,"  "  Grace,"  constantly  at  their  tongue's  end, 
that  if  they  should  be  asked  what  they  mean  by  them,  they 
would  be  at  a  stand  and  know  not  what  to  answer.  Even 
Locke  himself,  who  has  written  so  ably  on  the  abuse  of 
words,  has  used  some  of  the  cardinal  and  vital  terms  in  his 
philosophy  in  different  senses.  La  Harpe  says  that  the 
express  object  of  the  entire  "  Essay  on  the  Human  Under- 
standing" is  to  demonstrate  rigorously  that  Ventendement  est 
i-x[>rit  et  (Kune  nature  essentiellement  distincte  de  la  matiere; 
yet  the  author  has  used  the  words  reflection,  mind,  spirit, 
so  vaguely  that  he  has  been  accused  of  holding  doctrines 
subversive  of  all  moral  distinctions.  Even  the  eagle  eye  of 
Newton  could  not  penetrate  the  obscurity  of  Locke's  lan- 
guage, and  on  reading  the  "Essay"  he  took  its  author  for 
a  Hobbist.  De  Maistre  declares  the  title  a  misnomer;  in- 
stead of  being  called  an  "  Essay  on  the  Human  Under- 
standing," it  should  be  entitled,  he  thinks,  an  "  Essay  on 
the  Understanding  of  Locke." 

In  treating  of  the  difference  between  the  disgraceful 
and  the  indecent,  Archbishop  Whately  observes  that  the 
Greeks  and  the  Romans,  unfortunately,  had  not,  like  our- 
selves, a  separate  word  for  each ;  turpe  and  aia%pb<;  served 
to  express  both.  Upon  this  ambiguity  some  of  the  ancient 
philosophers,  especially  the  Cynics,  founded  paradoxes,  by 
which  they  bewildered  themselves  and  their  hearers.  It  is 
an  interesting  fact  that  the  Saxon  part  of  our  language, 
containing  a  smaller  percentage  of  synonymous  words  that 
are  liable  to  be  confounded,  is  much  freer  from  equivoca- 
10* 


226  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSK. 

tion  than  the  Romanic.  Of  four  hundred  and  fifty  words 
discriminated  by  Whately,  in  his  treatise-  on  synonymes, 
less  than  ninety  are  Anglo-Saxon.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
has  been  noted  by  the  same  writer  that  the  double  origin  of 
our  language,  from  Saxon  and  Norman,  often  enables  a 
sophist  to  seem  to  render  a  reason,  when  he  is  only  repeat- 
ing the  assertion  in  synonymous  words  of  a  different  fam- 
ily: e.g.,  "  To  allow  every  man  an  unbounded  freedom  of 
speech,  must  be  always  on  the  whole  highly  advantageous 
to  the  State;  for,  it  is  extremely  conducive  to  the  interests 
of  the  community  that  each  individual  should  enjoy  a  lib- 
erty perfectly  unlimited  of  expressing  his  sentiments."  So 
the  physician  in  Moliere  accounted  for  opium  producing 
sleep  by  saying  thaf  it  had  a  soporific  virtue.  Again:  there 
is  a  large  class  of  words  employed  indiscriminately,  neither 
because  they  express  precisely  the  same  ideas,  nor  because 
they  enable  the  sophist  to  confound  things  that  are  essen- 
tially different,  but  because  they  convey  no  distinct  ideas 
whatever,  except  of  the  moral  character  of  him  who  uses 
them.  "  II  m'appelle,"  says  Paul  Louis  Courier,  speaking 
of  an  opponent,  "jacobin,  re*volutionnaire,  plagiaire,  voleur, 
empoissonneur,  faussaire,  pestife"re  ou  pestifere,  enrage", 
imposteur,  calomniateur,  libelliste,  homme  horrible,  or- 
durier,  grimacier,  chifonnier,  .  .  Je  vois  ce  qu'il  voit 
dire;  il  entend  que  lui  et  moi  sommes  d'avis  different." 

It  is  an  old  trick  of  controversialists,  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken,  to  employ  "  question-begging "  words  that 
determine  disputes  summarily  without  facts  or  arguments. 
Thus  political  parties  and  religious  sects  quietly  beg  the 
questions  at  issue  between  them  by  dubbing  themselves 
"  the  Democrats  "  and  "  the  Republicans,"  or  "  the  Ortho- 
dox "  and  the  "  Liberals  " ;  though  the  orthodoxy  of  the  one 


THE   FALLACIES    IN    WORDS.  227 

may  consist  only  in  opposition  to  somebody  else's  doxy,  and 
the  liberality  of  the  other  may  differ  from  bigotry  only  in 
the  fact  that  the  bigots  are  liberal  only  to  one  set  of  opin- 
ions, while  the  Liberals  are  bigoted  against  all.  So  with 
the  argument  of  what  is  called  the  Selfish  School  of  Moral 
Philosophers,  who  deny  that  man  ever  acts  from  purely 
disinterested  motives.  The  whole  superstructure  of  their 
degrading  theory  rests  upon  a  confounding  of  the  term 
self-love  with  selfishness.  If  I  go  out  to  walk,  and,  being 
overtaken  by  a  shower,  spread  my  umbrella  to  save  myself 
from  a  wetting,  never  once,  all  the  while,  thinking  of  my 
friends,  my  country,  or  of  anybody,  in  short,  but  myself, 
will  it  be  pretended  that  this  act,  though  performed  exclu- 
sively for  self,  was  in  any  sense  selfish?  As  well  might 
you  say  that  the  cultivation  of  an  art  makes  a  man  artful; 
that  one  who  gets  his  living  by  any  craft  is  necessarily  a 
crafty  man;  that  a  man  skilled  in  design  is  a  designing 
man;  or  that  a  man  who  forms  a  project  is  therefore  a 
projector.  Derivatives  do  not  always  retain  the  force  of 
their  primitives.  Wearing  woolen  clothes  does  not  make 
a  man  sheepish.  A  representative  does  not,  and  ought  not, 
always  to  represent  the  will  of  his  constituents,  (that  is, 
in  the  sense  of  voting  as  they  wish,  or  being  their  mere 
spokesman;}  for  they  may  clamor  for  measures  opposed  to 
the  Constitution,  which  he  has  sworn  to  support.  Self- 
love,  in  the  highest  degree,  implies  no  disregard  of  the 
rights  of  others;  whereas  Selfishness  is  always  sacrificing 
others  to  itself, —  it  contains  the  germ  of  every  crime,  and 
fires  its  neighbor's  house  to  roast  its  own  eggs. 

What  towering  structures  of  fallacy  conservatives  have 
been  built  upon  the  twofold  meaning  of  the  word  old! 
Strictly,  it  denotes  the  length  of  time  that  any  object  has 


228  WORDS;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

existed;  but  it  is  often  employed,  instead  of  "ancient,"  to 
denote  distance  of  time.  Because  old  men  are  generally  the 
wisest  and  most  experienced,  opinions  and  practices  handed 
down  to  us  from  the  "  old  times  "  of  ignorance  and  super- 
stition, when  the  world  was  comparatively  in  its  youth,  it  is 
thought  must  be  entitled  to  the  highest  respect.  The  truth 
is,  as  Sydney  Smith  says,  "of  living  men  the  oldest  has. 
ceteris  paribits,  the  most  experience ;  of  generations,  the  old- 
est has  the  least  experience.  Our  ancestors,  up  to  the  Con- 
quest, were  children  in  arms;  chubby  boys  in  the  time  of 
Edward  the  First ;  striplings  under  Elizabeth ;  men  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Anne;  and  we  only  are  the  white-bearded, 
silver-headed  ancients,  who  have  treasured  up,  and  are  pre- 
pared to  profit  by,  all  the  experience  which  human  life  can 
supply."  Again:  how  many  tedious  books,  pamphlets,  and 
newspaper  articles  have  been  written,  to  prove  that  educa- 
tion should  consist  of  mental  discipline, —  founded  on  an 
erroneous  derivation  of  the  word  from  educere, —  "to  draw 
out."  Does  education,  it  is  asked,  consist  in  filling  the 
child's  mind  as  a  cistern  is  filled  with  water  brought  in 
buckets  from  some  other  source,  or  in  the  opening  up  of  its 
own  fountains?  The  fact  is  education  comes  not  from  <><ln- 
cere,  but  from  edttcare,  which  means  "to  nourish,"  "to  fos- 
ter," to  do  just  what  the  nurse  does.  Educit  obstetrix,  says 
Cicero,  educat  nutrix,  imtituit  pcedagogns.  It  is  food,  above 
all  things,  which  the  growing  mind  craves;  and  the  mind's 
food  is  knowledge.  Discipline,  training,  healthful  develop- 
ment is,  indeed,  necessary,  but  it  should  form  a  part  only, 
not  usurp  the  lion's  share,  of  education.  In  an  ideal  sys- 
tem this  and  the  nourishing  of  the  mind  by  wholesome 
knowledge  would  proceed  simultaneously.  The  school  les- 
son would  feed  the  mind,  while  the  thorough,  patient,  and 


THE   FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  229 

conscientious  acquisition  of  it  would  gymnaze  the  intellect 
and  strengthen  the  moral  force.  Why  have  one  class  of 
studies  for  discipline  only,  and  another  class  for  nourish- 
ment only,  when  there  are  studies  which  at  once  fill  the 
mind  with  the  materials  of  thinking  and  develop  the  power 
of  thought, —  which,  at  the  same  time,  impart  useful  knowl- 
edge, and  afford  an  intellectual  gymnastic?  Is  a  merchant, 
whose  business  compels  him  to  walk  a  dozen  miles  a  day,  to 
be  told  that  he  must  walk  another  dozen  for  the  sake  of 
exercise,  and  for  that  alone?  Yet  not  less  preposterous,  it 
seems  to  us,  is  the  reasoning  of  a  class  of  educators  who 
would  range  on  one  side  the  practically  useful,  and  on  the 
other  the  educational,  and  build  high  between  them  a  par- 
tition wall. 

If  a  man,  by  mastering  Chillingworth,  learns  how  to  rea- 
son logically  at  the  same  time  that  he  learns  the  principles 
of  Protestantism,  must  he  study  logic  in  Whately  or  Jevens? 
One  of  the  disadvantages  of  an  education  of  which  disci- 
pline, pure  and  simple,  is  made  the  end,  is  that  the  disci- 
pline, being  disagreeable,  too  often  ends  with  the  school- 
days; whereas  the  discipline  gained  agreeably,  instead  of 
being  associated  with  disgust,  would  be  continued  through 
life.  It  is  possible  that  the  muscular  discipline  which  the 
gymnasium  gives  is  greater  while  it  lasts  than  that  which 
is  gained  by  a  blacksmith  or  other  laborer  in  his  daily 
work;  but  whose  muscles  are  more  developed,  the  man's 
who  practices  a  few  months  or  years  in  a  gymnasium,  or 
the  man's  whose  calling  compels  him  to  use  his  muscles  all 
his  life?  What  would  the  graduate  of  the  gymnasium  do, 
if  hugged  by  a  London  coal-heaver? 

Again:  the  readers  of  Macaulay's  "History  of  England" 
will  recollect  the  hot  and  long-protracted  debates  in  Parlia- 


230  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ment  in  1696,  upon  the  question  whether  James  II.  had 
"abdicated"  or  "deserted"  the  crown, —  the  Lords  insisting 
upon  the  former,  the  Commons  upon  the  latter,  term.  Ilt^ 
will  also  recall  the  eloquent  and  fierce  debate  by  the  Lords 
upon  the  motion  that  they  should  subscribe  an  instrument, 
to  which  the  Commons  had  subscribed,  recognizing  William 
as  "  rightful  and  lawful  king  of  England."  This  they 
refused  to  do,  but  voted  to  declare  that  he  had  the  right  by 
law  to  the  English  crown,  and  that  no  other  person  had  any 
right  whatever  to  that  crown.  The  distinction  between  the 
two  propositions,  observes  Macaulay,  a  Whig  may,  without 
any  painful  sense  of  shame,  acknowledge  to  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  faculties,  and  leave  to  be  discussed  by  High 
Churchmen.  The  distinction  between  "  abdicate  "  and  "  de- 
sert," however,  is  an  important  one,  obvious  almost  at  a 
glance.  Had  Parliament  declared  that  James  had  "desert- 
ed "  the  throne,  they  would  have  admitted  that  it  was  not 
only  his  right,  but  his  duty,  to  return,  as  in  the  case  of  a 
husband  who  had  deserted  his  wife,  or  a  soldier  who  had 
deserted  his  post.  By  declaring  that  he  had  "  abdicated  " 
the  throne,  they  virtually  asserted  that  he  had  voluntarily 
relinquished  the  crown,  and  forfeited  all  right  to  it  forever. 
Among  the  ambiguous  words  which  at  this  day  lead  to 
confusion  of  thought,  one  of  the  most  prominent  is  the 
word  unity.  There  are  not  a  few  Christians  who  confound 
what  the  Apostles  say  concerning  "  unity  of  spirit,"  faith, 
etc.,  with  unity  of  church  government,  and  infer,  because 
the  church, —  that  is,  the  church  universal, —  is  one,  as  hav- 
ing one  common  Head,  one  Spirit,  one  Father,  it  must, 
therefore,  be  one  as  a  society.  "  Church  unity "  is  a  good 
thing,  so  long  as  it  does  not  involve  the  sacrifice  of  a  denom- 
ination's life  or  principles  ;  but  there  are  cases  where  it 


THE    FALLACIES    IN    WORDS.  231 

amounts  to  absorption.  It  sometimes  resembles  too  closely 
that  peculiar  union  which  the  boa-constrictor  is  so  fond  of 
consummating  between  itself  and  the  goat.  It  is  exceed- 
ingly fond  of  goats;  but  when  the  union  is  complete,  there 
is  not  a  trace  of  the  goat, —  it  is  all  boa-constrictor. 

Again,  how  many  systems  of  error  in  metaphysics  and 
ethics  have  been  based  upon  the  etymologies  of  words,  the 
sophist  assuming  that  the  meaning  of  a  word  must  always 
be  that  which  it,  or  its  root,  originally  bore!  Thus  Home 
Tooke  tries  to  prove  by  a  wide  induction  that  since  all  par- 
ticles,— that  is,  adverbs,  prepositions,  and  conjunctions, — 
were  originally  nouns  and  verbs,  they  must  be  so  still;  a 
species  of  logic  which  would  prove  that  man,  if  the  Dar- 
winian theory  be  true,  is  still  a  reptile.  In  a  similar  way 
the  same  writer  has  reached  the  conclusion  that  there  is  no 
eternal  truth,  since  truth,  according  to  its  etymology,  is 
simply  what  one  "  troweth,"  that  is,  what  one  thinks  or  be- 
lieves. This  theory,  it  is  thought,  was  suggested  to  Tooke 
by  a  conjecture  that  "  if"  is  equivalent  to  "gif,"  an  imper- 
ative of  the  verb  "  to  give " ;  but  as  it  has  been  shown, 
from  cognate  forms  in  other  languages,  that  this  particle 
has  no  connection  with  the  verb  "  to  give,"  or  any  other 
verb,  "  any  system  founded  on  this  basis  is  a  mere  castle  in 
the  air."  Truth,  argues  Tooke,  supposes  mankind;  for 
whom,  and  by  whom  alone  the  word  is  formed,  and  to  whom 
alone  it  is  applicable.  "  If  no  man,  then  no  truth.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  eternal,  immutable,  everlasting  truth, 
unless  mankind,  such  as  they  are  at  present,  be  also  eternal, 
immutable,  and  everlasting.  Two  persons  may  contradict 
each  other,  and  yet  both  speak  truth,  for  the  truth  of  one 
person  may  be  opposite  to  the  truth  of  another." 

Even  if  we  admit  this  derivation  of  "  truth,"  the  con- 


232  WORDS;   THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

elusion  does  not  follow;  for  whatever  the  word  once  meant, 
it  now  means  that  which  is  certain,  whether  we  think  it  or 
not.  But  this  etymology  has  been  disputed  by  the  very 
highest  authority.  According  to  Mr.  Garnett,  an  acute 
English  philologist,  "truth"'  is  derived  "from  the  Sanscrit 
dhru,  to  be  established, — fixwm  esse;  whence  dhruwa,  cer- 
tain, i.e.  established;  German,  trauen,  to  rely,  trust;  trru 
faithful,  true;  Anglo-Saxon,  treorv-treowth  (fides);  English, 
true,  truth.  To  these  we  may  add  Gothic,  triggons;  Ice- 
landic, trygge;  (fidus,  securus,  tutus):  all  from  the  same 
root,  and  all  conveying  the  same  idea  of  stability  or  secu- 
rity. Truth,  therefore,  neither  means  what  is  thought  nor 
what  is  said,  but  that  which  is  permanent,  stable,  and  is 
and  ought  to  be  relied  upon,  because,  upon  sufficient  data, 
it  is  capable  of  being  demonstrated  or  shown  to  exist.  If 
we  admit  this  explanation,  Tooke's  assertions  .  .  .  become 
Vox  et  preterea  nihil." 

Some  years  ago  a  bulky  volume  01  seven  hundred  pages 
octavo  was  written  by  Dr.  Johnson,  a  London  physician,  to 
prove  that  "  might  makes  right," — that  justice  is  the  result, 
not  of  divine  instinct,  but  purely  and  simply  of  arbitrary 
decree.  The  foundation  for  this  equally  fallacious  and  dan- 
gerous theory  was  the  fact  that  "  right"  is  derived  from  the 
'Latin,  rego,  to  rule;  therefore  whatever  the  rex,  or  ruler, 
authorizes  or  decrees,  is  right!  As  well  might  he  argue 
that  only  courtiers  can  be  polite,  because  "courtesy''  is 
borrowed  from  palaces,  or  that  there  can  be  no  "  heaven " 
or  "  hell "  in  the  scriptural  sense,  because,  in  its  etymologi- 
cal, the  one  is  the  canopy  heaved  over  our  heads,  and  the 
other  is  the  hollow  space  beneath  our  feet.  Indeed,  we 
have  seen  an  argument,  founded  on  the  etymology  of  the 
latter  word,  to  prove  that  there  is  "  no  hell  beyond  a  hole 


THE   FALLACIES    IN   WORDS.  233 

in  the  ground."  In  the  same  way  because  our  primitive 
vocabulary  is  derived  solely  from  sensible  images,  it  has 
been  assumed  that  the  mind  has  no  ideas  except  those 
derived  through  the  senses,  and  that  therefore  thought  is 
only  sensation.  But  neither  idealism  nor  materialism  can 
derive  any  support  from  the  phenomena  of  language,  for 
the  names  we  give  either  to  outward  objects  or  to  our  con- 
ceptions of  immaterial  entities  can  give  us  no  conception  of 
the  things  themselves.  It  is  true  that  in  every-day  lan- 
guage we  talk  of  color,  smell,  thickness,  shape,  etc.,  not 
only  as  sensations  within  us,  but  as  qualities  inherent  in 
the  things  themselves;  but  it  has  long  since  been  shown 
that  they  are  only  modifications  of  our  consciousness. 
"  Things  and  the  senses  can  no  more  transmit  cognitions  to 
the  mind,  than  a  man  can  transmit  to  a  beggar  a  guinea 
that  he  has  not  got."  If,  then,  our  conception  of  an  object 
in  no  way  resembles  the  object, —  if  heat,  for  example,  can 
be,  in  no  sense,  like  a  live  coal,  nor  pain  like  the  pricking 
of  a  pin, —  much  less  can  the  word  by  which  we  denote  an 
object  be  other  than  a  mere  hieroglyphic,  or  teach  us  a  jot 
or  tittle  about  the  world  of  sense  or  thought.  Again:  the 
fact  that  spirit  once  signified  breath,  and  animus,  avs.uo?, 
air,  lends  no  countenance  to  materialism.  "  When  we  im- 
pose on  a  phenomenon  of  the  physical  order  a  moral  denom- 
ination, we  do  not  thereby  spiritualize  matter;  and  because 
we  assign  a  physical  denomination  to  a  moral  phenomenon, 
we  do  not  materialize  spirit."  Even  if  the  words  by  which 
we  designate  mental  conceptions  are  derived  from  material 
analogies,  it  does  not  follow  that  our  conceptions  were 
themselves  originally  material;  and  we  shall  in  vain  try  to 
account  by  any  external  source  for  the  relations  of  words 
among  themselves.  It  is  told  of  the  metaphysician,  Cud- 


234  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

worth,  that,  in  reply  to  a  person  who  ridiculed  the  doctrine 
of  innate  15eas,  he  told  him  to  take  down  the  first  book  that 
came  to  hand  in  his  library,  open  at  random,  and  read. 
The  latter  opened  Cicero's  "Offices,"  and  began  reading  1 1n- 
first  sentence,  "  Quamquam "  "Stop! "  cried  Cudworth, 

"it  is  enough.  Tell  me  how  through  the  SCUMS  you 
acquire  the  idea  of  quamquam." 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  language  is  no  more 
than  a  mere  collection  of  words.  The  terms  we  employ  an- 
symbols  only,  which  can  never  fully  express  our  thought. 
but  shadow  forth  far  more  than  it  is  in  their  power  dis- 
tinctly to  impart.  Lastly,  there  are  in  every  language, 
as  another  has  truly  said,  a  vast  number  of  words,  such  as 
sacrifice,  sacrament,  mystery,  eternity,  which  may  be  ex- 
plained by  the  idea,  though  the  idea  cannot  be  discovered 
by  the  word,  as  is  the  case  with  whatever  belongs  to  the 
mystery  of  the  mind;  and  this  of  itself  is  enough  to  dis- 
prove the  conclusion  which  nominalists  would  draw  from 
the  origin  of  words,  and  to  prove  that,  whatever  the 
derivation  of  "truth."  its  etymology  can  establish  nothing 
concerning  its  essence,  and  that  we  are  still  at  liberty  to 
regard  it  as  independent,  immutable,  and  eternal,  having 
its  archetype  in  the  Divine  mind. 

Among  the  terms  used  in  literary  criticism,  few  an- 
more  loosely  employed  than  the  word  creaticr,  as  applied 
to  men  of  genius.  Homer,  Dante,  Shakspeare,  are  said  to 
have  "creative  power";  and,  as  a  figure  of  speech,  the 
remark  is  true  enough;  but,  strictly  speaking,  only  Om- 
nipotence can  create;  man  can  only  combine.  The  exhaust- 
less  imagination  of  Raphael  could  fill  his  gallery  with 
fantastic  representations,  but  every  piece  of  which  his 
paintings  are  composed  exists  in  nature.  To  make  a 


THE   FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  235 

modern  statue  there  is  a  great  melting  down  of  old  bronze. 
The  essence  of  originality  is  not  that  it  creates  new  mate- 
rial, or  even  necessarily  invents  new  combinations  of  mate- 
rial, but  that  it  imparts  new  life  to  whatever  it  discovers 
or  combines,  whether  of  new  or  old.  Shakspeare's  genius 
is  at  no  other  time  so  incontestably  sovereign  as  when  he 
borrows  most, —  when  he  adapts  or  moulds,  in  a  manner 
so  perfect  as  to  resemble  a  new  creation,  the  old  chroni- 
cles and  "  Italian  originals,"  which  have  been  awaiting  the 
vivida  vis  that  makes  them  live  and  move.  Non  nova,  sed 
nove,  sums  up  the  whole  philosophy  of  the  subject.  "Orig- 
inality," says  an  able  writer,  "  never  works  more  fruit- 
fully than  in  a  soil  rich  and  deep  with  the  foliage  of  ages." 
The  word  same  is  often  used  in  a  way  that  leads  to 
error.  Persons  say  the  same  when  they  mean  similar.  It 
has  been  asked  whether  the  ship  Argo,  in  which  Jason 
sought  the  Golden  Fleece,  and  whose  decaying  timbers,  as 
she  lay  on  the  Greek  shore,  a  grateful  and  reverent  nation 
had  patched  up,  till,  in  process  .of  time,  not  a  plank  of  the 
original  ship  was  left, —  was  still  the  same  ship  as  of  old. 
The  question  presents  no  difficulty,  if  we  remember  that 
sameness,  that  is,  identity,  is  an  absolute  term,  and  can  be 
affirmed  or  denied  only  in  an  absolute  sense.  No  man  is 
the  same  man  to-day  that  he  was  yesterday,  though  he 
may  be  very  similar  to  his  yesterday's  self. 


236  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

CHAPTER    XI. 
THE  FALLACIES  IN  WORDS  —  (continued}. 

I  never  learned  rhetorike  certain; 

Things  that  I  speke,  it  mote  be  hare  and  plain.—  CHAUCER. 

Here  is  our  great  infelicity,  that,  when  single  words  signify  complex  ideas, 
one  word  can  never  distinctly  manifest  all  the  parts  of  a  complex  idea. — 
ISAAC  WATTS. 

If  reputation  attend  these  conquests  which  depend  on  the  fineness  and 
niceties  of  words,  it  is  no  wonder  if  the  wit  of  men  so  employed  should  per- 
plex and  subtilize  the  signification  of  sounds.— LOCKE. 

IT  has  been  remarked  by  Archbishop  Whately  that  "  the 
words  whose  ambiguity  is  the  most  frequently  over- 
looked, and  produces  the  greatest  amount  of  confusion  of 
thought  and  fallacy  are  the  commonest," — the  very  ones 
whose  meaning  is  supposed  to  be  best  understood.  ".Fa- 
miliar acquaintance  is  perpetually  mistaken  for  accurate 
knowledge."  Such  a  word  is  luxury. 

A  favorite  theme  for  newspaper  declamations  in  ihrsc 
days  is  the  luxury  and  extravagance  of  the  American 
people,  especially  of  the  nouveaux  riches  whose  fortunes 
have  been  of  mushroom  growth.  It  is  easy  to  declaim 
thus  against  luxury, — that  is,  against  the  use  of  things 
which,  at  any  particular  period,  are  not  deemed  indis- 
pensable to  life,  health,  and  comfort;  but  what  do  those 
who  indulge  in  this  cheap  denunciation  mean  by  the  term? 
Is  not  luxury  a  purely  relative  term?  Is  there  a  single 
article  of  dress,  food  or  furniture  which  can  be  pronounced 
an  absolute  luxury,  without  regard  to'  the  wealth  or  pov- 
erty of  him  who  enjoys  it?  Are  not  the  luxuries  of  one 


THE    FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  237 

generation  or  country  the  necessaries  of  another?  Persons 
who  are  familiar  with  history  know  that  Alfred  the  Great 
had  not  a  chair  to  sit  down  upon,  nor  a  chimney  to  carry 
off  his  smoke;  that  William  the  Conqueror  was  unac- 
quainted with  the  luxury  of  a  feather  bed,  if  it  can  be 
called  one;  that  the  early  aristocracy  of  England  lived  on 
the  ground-floor,  without  drainage;  that  in  the  Middle 
Ages  shirts  were  deemed  a  useless  superfluity,  and  men 
were  even  put  in  the  pillory  for  wearing  them ;  that  night 
shirts  were  esteemed  a  still  more  needless  luxury,  and 
persons  of  all  ranks  and  classes  slept  in  the  first  costume 
of  Adam ;  that  travelling  carriages  are  an  ingenious  inven- 
tion of  modern  effeminacy;  that  the  men  who  first  carried 
umbrellas  in  the  streets,  even  in  the  severest  rain-storms, 
were  hooted  at  as  dandies  and  coxcombs;  that  the  nobles 
and  dames  of  the  most  brilliant  epochs  of  England's  annals 
ate  with  their  fingers,  generally  in  couples,  out  of  one 
trencher  on  a  bare  table ;  and  that  when  forks  were  intro- 
duced, they  were  long  hotly  opposed  as  an  extravagance, 
and  even  denounced  by  many  as  a  device  of  Satan,  to  offer 
an  affront  to  Providence,  who  had  provided  man  with 
fingers  to  convey  his  food  to  his  mouth.  In  the  intro- 
duction to  Hollinshed's  "Chronicles,"  published  in  1577, 
there  is  a  bitter  complaint  of  the  multitude  of  chimneys 
lately  erected,  of  the  exchange  of  straw  pallets  for  mat- 
tresses or  flock  beds,  and  of  wooden  platters  for  earthen- 
ware and  pewter.  In  another  place,  the  writer  laments 
that  oak  only  is  used  for  building,  instead  of  willow  as 
heretofore;  adding,  that  "formerly  our  houses  indeed 
were  of  willow,  but  our  men  were  of  oak;  but  now  that 
our  houses  are  of  oak,  our  men  are  not  only  of  willow, 
but  some  altogether  of  straw,  which  is  a  sore  alteration." 


238  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Erasmus  tells  us  that  salt  beef  and  strong  ale  consti- 
tuted the  chief  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  breakfast,  and 
that  similar  refreshments  were  served  to  her  in  bed  for 
supper.  There  is  not  a  single  able-bodied  workingman  in 
Chicago  who  does  not  enjoy  fare  which  would  have  been 
deemed  luxurious  by  men  of  high  station  in  the  iron  reign 
of  the  Tudors;  hardly  a  thriving  shopkeeper  who  does  not 
occupy  a  house  which  English  nobles  in  1650  would  have 
envied;  hardly  a  domestic  servant  or  factory  girl  who  does 
not  on  Sundays  adorn  herself  with  apparel  which  would 
have  excited  the  admiration  of  the  duchesses  in  Queen 
Elizabeth's  ante-rooms.  Xenophon  accounts  for  the  degen- 
eracy of  the  Persians  by  their  luxury,  which,  he  says,  was 
carried  to  such  a  pitch  that  they  used  gloves  to  protect 
their  hands.  Tea  and  coffee  were  once  denounced  as  idle 
and  injurious  luxuries;  and  throughout  the  larger  part  of 
the  world  tooth-brushes,  napkins,  suspenders,  bathing-tubs, 
and  a  hundred  other  things  now  deemed  indispensable  to 
the  health  or  comfort  of  civilized  man,  would  be  regarded 
as  proofs  of  effeminacy  and  extravagance. 

Luxury  has  been  a  favorite  theme  of  satire  and  denun- 
ciation by  poets  and  moralists  from  time  immemorial. 
But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  in  nations  or  individuals 
its  effects,  even  when  it  rages  most  fiercely,  are  half  so 
pernicious  as  those  springing  from  that  indifference  to 
comforts  and  luxuries  which  is  sometimes  dignified  with 
the  name  of  contentment,  but  which  is  only  another  name 
for  sheer  laziness.  While  thousands  are  ruined  by  prodi- 
gality and  extravagance,  tens  of  thousands  are  kept  in 
poverty  by  indifference  to  the  comforts  and  ornaments  of 
life, —  by  a  too  feeble  development  of  those  desires  to 
gratify  which  the  mass  of  men  are  striving.  It  is  a  bad 


THE    FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  239 

sign  when  a  man  is  content  with  the  bare  necessities  of 
life,  and  aspiring  to  nothing  higher;  and  equally  ominous 
is  it  when  a  nation,  however  rich  or  powerful,  is  satisfied 
with  the  capital  and  glories  it  has  already  accumulated. 
Cry  up  as  we  may  the  virtues  of  simplicity  and  frugality, 
it  is  yet  quite  certain  that  a  people  content  to  live  upon 
garlic,  macaroni,  or  rice,  are  at  the  very  lowest  point  in 
the  scale  both  of  intellect  and  morality.  A  civilized  man 
differs  from  a  savage  principally  in  the  multiplicity  of  his 
wants.  The  truth  is,  man  is  a  constitutionally  lazy  being, 
and  requires  some  stimulus  to  prick  him  into  industry. 
He  must  have  many  difficulties  to  contend  with, —  many 
clamorous  appetites  and  tastes  to  gratify, —  if  you  would 
bring  out  his  energies  and  virtues;  and  it  is  because  they 
are  always  grumbling, —  because,  dissatisfied  amid  the  most 
enviable  enjoyments,  they  clamor  and  strive  for  more  and 
more  of  what  Voltaire  calls  les  superflues  choses,  si  neces- 
saires, —  that  the  English  people  have  reached  their  present 
pinnacle  of  prosperity,  and  accumulated  a  wealth  which 
almost  enables  them  to  defy  a  hostile  world. 

Among  the  familiar  words  that  we  employ  few  have 
been  more  frequently  made  the  instrument  of  sophistry 
than  nature  and  art.  There  are  many  persons  who  oppose 
the  teaching  of  elocution,  because  they  like  a  natural  and 
artless  eloquence,  to  which,  they  think,  all  elaborate  train- 
ing is  opposed.  Yet  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that 
Nature  and  Art,  between  which  there  is  supposed  to  be  an 
irreconcilable  antagonism,  are  often  the  very  same  thing. 
What  is  more  natural  than  that  a  man  who  lacks  vocal 
power  should  cultivate  and  develop  his  voice  by  vocal  exer- 
cises; or  that,  if  he  is  conscious  of  faults  in  his  manner  of 
speaking, —  his  articulation,  gestures,  etc. —  he  should  try, 


240  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

by  the  help  of  a  good  teacher,  to  overcome  them?  So  with 
the  style  of  a  writer;  what  is  more  natural  than  for  one 
who  feels  that  he  has  not  adequately  expressed  his  thought, 
to  blot  the  words  first  suggested  and  try  others,  and  yet 
others,  till  he  despairs  of  further  improvement?  A  con- 
scientious writer  is  continually  transposing  clauses,  recon- 
structing sentences,  substituting  words,  polishing  and  re- 
polishing  paragraphs;  and  this,  unquestionably,  is  art,  or 
the  application  of  means  to  an  end.  But  is  this  art  incon- 
sistent with  nature? 

Similar  to  the  fallacy  which  lurks  in  the  words  "na- 
ture" and  "natural,"  as  thus  employed,  is  that  which  lurks 
in  a  popular  use  of  the  word  simplicity.  It  has  been 
happily  said  that  while  some  men  talk  as  if  to  speak  nat- 
urally* were  to  speak  like  a  Natural,  others  talk  as  if  to 
speak  with  simplicity  meant  to  speak  like  a  simpleton. 
But  what  is  true  "  simplicity,"  as  applied  to  literary  com- 
position? Is  it  old,  worn-out  commonplace, —  "straw 
that  has  been  thrashed  a  hundred  times  without  wheat," 
as  Carlyle  says, —  the  shallowest  ideas  expressed  in  tame 
and  insipid  language?  Or  is  it  not  rather 

"  Nature  to  advantage  dressed, 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed," 

—  in  other  words,  a  just  and  striking  thought  expressed  in 
the  aptest  and  most  impressive  language?  Those  persons 
who  declaim  against  the  employment  of  art  in  speaking 
and  writing,  forget  that  we  are  all  exceedingly  artificial, 
conventional  beings.  Without  training,  a  speaker  is  almost 
sure  to  be  awkward  in  gesture  and  unnatural  in  utter- 
ance. The  very  preacher  who  in  the  street  forgets  himself 
and  uses  the  most  natural  gesticulation  and  tones,  will 
become  self-conscious  the  moment  he  ascends  the  pulpit. 


THE   FALLACIES    IN   WORDS.  241 

and  speak  in  a  falsetto  key.  It  is  to  get  rid  of  these 
artificial  habits  that  art  (which  is  the  employment  of 
proper  means)  is  needed. 

How  many  controversies  about  the  "  transmutation  of 
Species"  and  the  "fixitij  of  Species,-'  would  have  been 
avoided,  had  the  scientists  who  use  these  phrases  fully 
pondered  their  meaning,  or  rather  no-meaning!  Some 
writers  have  tried  to  explain  the  law  of  constancy  in 
transmission,  and  its  independence  of  the  law  of  variation, 
by  maintaining  that  it  is  the  Species  only,  not  the  Individ- 
ual, which  is  reproduced.  "Species,"  says  Buifon,  "  are  the 
only  beings  in  nature."  A  sheep,  it  is  said,  is  always  and 
everywhere  a  sheep,  and  a  man  a  man,  reproducing  the 
specific  type,  but  not  necessarily  reproducing  any  individual 
peculiarities.  This  hypothesis  is  a  striking  example  of 
the  confusion  which  results  from  the  introduction  of  old 
metaphysical  ideas  into  science.  It  is  evident,  as  a  late 
writer  has  clearly  shown,  that  Species  cannot  reproduce 
itself,  for  Species  does  not  exist.  It  is  an  entity,  an 
abstract  idea,  not  a  concrete  fact. 

The  thing  Species  no  more  exists  than  the  thing  Good- 
ness or  the  thing  Whiteness.  "Nature  only  knows  indi- 
viduals. A  collection  of  individuals  so  closely  resembling 
each  other  as  all  sheep  resemble  each  other,  are  conven- 
iently classed  under  one  general  term,  Species;  but  this 
general  term  has  no  objective  existence;  the  abstract  or 
typical  sheep,  apart  from  all  concrete  individuals,  has  no 
existence  out  of  our  systems.  Whenever  an  individual 
sheep  is  born,  it  is  the  offspring  of  two  individual  sheep, 
whose  structures  and  dispositions  it  reproduces;  it  is  not 
the  offspring  of  an  abstract  idea;  it  does  not  come  into 
being  at  the  bidding  of  a  type,  which  as  a  Species  sits 
11 


242  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

apart,  regulating  ovine  phenomena.  .  .  If,  therefore, 
'  transmutation  of  Species '  is  absurd,  '  fixity  of  Species '  is 
not  a  whit  less  so.  That  which  does  not  exist  can  neither 
be  transmuted  nor  maintained  in  fixity.  Only  individuals 
exist;  they  resemble  their  parents,  and  they  differ  from 
their  parents.  Out  of  these  resemblances  we  create  Spe- 
cies; out  of  these  differences  we  create  Varieties;  we  do  so 
as  conveniences  of  classification,  and  then  believe  in  the 
reality  of  our  own  figments."* 

A  popular  fallacy,  which  is  partly  verbal,  is  the  notion, 
so  tenaciously  held  by  many,  that  exposure  to  hardship, 
and  even  want,  in  youth,  is  the  cause  of  the  bodily  vigor 
of  those  men  who  have  lived  to  a  good  age  in  countries 
with  a  rocky  soil  and  a  bleak  climate.  What  is  more 
natural,  it  is  argued,  than  that  hardships  should  harden  the 
constitution?  Look  at  the  Indians;  how  many  of  them 
live  till  eighty  or  ninety!  Yet  no  person  who  reasons 
thus  would  think,  if  engaged  in  cattle-breeding,  of  neg- 
lecting to  feed  and  shelter  his  animals  in  their  youth; 
nor  if  a  dozen  men,  out  of  a  hundred  who  had  faced  a 
battery,  should  survive  and  live  to  a  good  age,  would  he 
think  of  regarding  the  facing  of  batteries  as  conducive  to 
longevity.  The  truth  is,  that  early  hardships,  by  destroy- 
ing all  the  weak,  merely  prove  the  hardiness  of  the  sur- 
vivors,—  which  latter  is  the  cause,  not  the  effect,  of  their 
having  lived  through  such  a  training.  So  "  loading  a  gun- 
barrel  to  the  muzzle,  and  firing  it  off,  does  not  give  it 
strength;  though  it  proves,  if  it  escape,  that  it  was 
strong." 

The  revelations  of  travelers  have  dissipated  the  illu- 
sions which  once  prevailed  concerning  the  hardiness  and 

'"Westminster  Review,"  September,  1850. 


THE   FALLACIES    IX    WORDS.  243 

health  of  the  Indians  and  other  savages.  The  savage,  it  is 
now  known,  lives  in  a  condition  but  one  degree  above  star- 
vation. If  he  sink  below  it,  he  disappears  instantaneously, 
as  if  he  had  never  been.  A  certain  amount  of  hardship 
he  can  endure;  but  it  has  limits,  which  if  he  passes,  he 
sinks  unnoticed  and  unknown.  There  is  no  registrar  or 
newspaper  to  record  that  a  unit  has  been  subtracted  from 
the  amount  of  human  existence.  It  is  true  that  severe 
diseases  are  rarely  seen  by  casual  visitors  of  savage  tribes, — 
and  why?  Because  death  is  their  doctor,  and  the  grave 
their  hospital.  When  patients  are  left  wholly  to  nature, 
nature  presses  very  hard  for  an  immediate  payment  of 
her  debt. 

An  ambiguous  word,  which  has  been  a  source  of  not  a 
little  error,  is  the  adjective  light,  which  is  used  sometimes 
in  a  literal,  sometimes  in  a  figurative,  sense.  When  writers 
on  Agricultural  Chemistry  declare  that  what  are  called 
heavy  soils  are  always  specifically  the  lightest,  the  statement 
looks  like  a  paradox.  By  "  heavy "  soils  are  meant,  of 
course,  not  those  which  are  the  weightiest,  but  these  which 
are  ploughed  with  difficulty, —  the  effect  being  like  that  of 
dragging  a  heavy  weight.  So  some  articles  of  food  are 
supposed  to  be  light  of  digestion  because  they  are  specifically 
light.  Again,  there  is  a  popular  notion  that  strong  drink 
must  make  men  strong;  which  is  a  double  fallacy,  since  the 
word  "strong"  is  applied  to  alcoholic  liquors  and  to  the 
human  body  in  entirely  different  senses,  and  it  is  assumed 
that  an  effect  must  be  like  its  cause,  which  is  not  true. 

Another  ambiguous  term,  at  least  as  popularly  used,  is 
murder.  There  are  persons  who  assert  that  the  coup  d'etat 
of  Louis  Napoleon,  in  1851,  was  murder  in  the  strictest 
sense  of  the  term.  To  send  out  into  the  streets  of  a 


244  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

peaceful  town  a  party  of  men  dressed  in  uniform,  with 
muskets  and  bayonets  in  their  hands,  and  with  orders  to 
kill  and  plunder,  is  just  as  essentially  murder  and  robbery, 
it  is  said,  as  to  break  into  a  house  with  half-a-dozen 
companions  out  of  uniform,  and  do  the  same  things.  Was 
not  Orsini's  crime,  they  ask,  as  truly  a  murder  as  when  a 
burglar  kills  a  man  with  a  revolver  in  order  to  rob  him? 
So,  again,  there  are  Christian  moralists,  who,  when  asked 
for  proof  that  suicide  is  sinful,  adduce  the  Scriptural 
injunction,  "Thou  shalt  do  no  murder,"  assuming  that 
suicide,  because  it  is  called  se\{-murder,  is  a  species  of 
murder  in  the  primary  sense  of  the  word.  It  is  evident, 
however,  that  most,  if  not  all,  of  these  assertions  are 
founded  on  palpable  fallacies.  "Murder"  is  a  technical 
term,  and  means  the  wilful,  deliberate  killing,  without 
just  cause,  and  without  certain  specified  excuses,  of  a  man 
who  belongs  to  a  settled  state  of  society,  in  which  security 
is  afforded  to  life  and  property.  In  all  that  is  said  about 
the  atrocity  of  murder,  there  is  a  latent  reference  to  this 
state  of  things.  Were  the  "Vigilance  Committee"  of  San 
Francisco  murderers,  when  they  executed  criminals  ille- 
gally? Are  the  men  who  "lynch"  horse-thieves  on  our 
western  frontiers,  murderers?  Were  the  rebels  who,  in 
our  late  Civil  War,  shot  down  Union  soldiers,  murderers? 
The  common  sentiment  of  the  civilized  world  recog- 
nizes a  vast  difference  between  the  rights  and  duties  of 
sovereigns  and  subjects,  and  the  relations  of  nations  to 
each  other,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  rights  and  duties  of 
private  individuals  on  the  other;  and  hence  the  rules  of 
public  and  those  of  private  morality  must  be  essentially 
different.  According  to  legal  authority,  it  is  not  murder 
to  kill  an  alien  enemy  in  time  of  war;  nor  is  it  murder 


THE    FALLACIES   IX    WORDS.  245 

to  take  away  a  man's  life  by  perjury.  Revolutions  and 
"coups  d'etat"  most  persons  will  admit  to  be  sometimes 
justifiable;  and  both,  when  justifiable,  justify  a  certain 
degree  of  violence  to  person,  to  property,  or  to  previous 
engagements.  The  difficulty  is  to  tell  just  when,  and  how 
far,  violence  may  justify  and  be  justified.  It  has  been 
well  said  by  an  acute  and  original  writer  that  "it  is  by 
no  means  the  same  thing  whether  a  man  is  plundered 
and  wounded  by  burglars,  or  by  the  soldiers  of  an  absolute 
king  who  is  trying  to  maintain  his  authority.  The  sack 
of  Perugia  shocked  the  sensibilities  of  a  great  part  of 
Europe;  but  if  the  Pope  had  privately  poisoned  one  of  his 
friends  or  servants  from  any  purely  personal  motive,  even 
the  blindest  religious  zeal  would  have  denounced  him  as 
a  criminal  unfit  to  live.  A  man  must  be  a  very  bitter 
Liberal  indeed,  who  really  maintains  that  the  violation  by 
a  Sovereign  of  his  promissory  oath  of  office  stands  on  pre- 
cisely the  same  footing  as  deliberate  perjury  in  an  ordinary 
court  of  justice."  Suicide,  it  is  evident,  lacks  the  most 
essential  characteristic  of  murder,  namely,  its  inhumanity, — 
the  injury  done  to  one's  neighbor,  and  to  others,  by  the 
insecurity  they  are  made  to  feel.  Can  a  man  rob  himself? 
If  not,  how  can  he,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word, 
murder  himself  ? 

There  is  hardly  any  word  which  is  oftener  turned  into 
an  instrument  of  the  fallacy  of  ambiguity  than  theory. 
There  is  a  class  of  men  in  every  community  of  limited 
education  and  narrow  observation,  who,  because  they 
have  mingled  in  the  world  and  dealt  with  affairs,  claim  to 
be  preeminently  practical  men,  and  ridicule  the  opinions 
of  thinkers  in  their  closets  as  the  speculations  of  "  mere 
theorists.""  In  their  estimation  all  theorizing  is  synony- 


246  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

inous  with  visionary  speculation;  while  that  which  they 
call  "  practical  knowledge,"  and  which  they  fancy  to  be 
wholly  devoid  of  supposition  or  guesswork,  but  which  is 
nothing  else  than  a  heap  of  hasty  deductions  from  scanty 
and  inaccurately  observed  phenomena,  they  deem  more 
trustworthy  than  the  discoveries  of  science  and  the  con- 
clusions of  reason.  Yet,  when  correctly  defined,  this  very 
practical  knowledge,  so  boastfully  opposed  to  theory,  in 
reality  presupposes  it.  True  practical  knowledge  is  simply 
a  ready  discernment  of  the  proper  modes  and  seasons  of 
applying  to  the  common  affairs  of  life  those  general  truths 
and  principles  which  are  deduced  from  an  extensive  and 
accurate  observation  of  facts,  by  minds  stored  with  various 
knowledge,  accustomed  to  investigation,  and  trained  to  the 
art  of  reasoning;  or,  in  other  words,  by  theorists.  Every 
man  who  attempts  to  trace  the  causes  or  effects  of  an 
occurrence  that  falls  under  his  personal  observation,  theo- 
rizes. The  only  essential  distinction,  in  most  cases,  between 
"  practical "  men  and  those  whom  they  denounce  as  vision- 
ary, is,  not  that  the  latter  alone  indulge  in  speculation, 
but  that  the  theories  of  the  former  are  based  on  the  facts 
of  their  own  experience, —  those  that  happen  within  .a 
narrow  sphere,  and  in  a  single  age;  while  the  conclusions 
of  the  latter  are  deduced  from  the  facts  of  all  ages  and 
countries,  minutely  analyzed  and  compared. 

Thus  the  "  practical "  farmer  does  not  hesitate  to  con- 
sult the  neighboring  farmers,  and  to  make  use  of  the  re- 
sults of  their  experience  concerning  the  best  soils  for  certain 
crops,  the  best  manures  for  those  soils,  etc. ;  yet  if  anothe* 
farmer,  instead  of  availing  himself  of  his  neighbors'  expe- 
riences only,  consults  a  book  or  books  containing  the  digested 
and  classified  results  of  a  thousand  farmers'  experiences 


THE   FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  247 

touching  the  same  points,  he  is  called,  by  a  strange  incon- 
sistency, "a  book-farmer,"  "a  mere  theorist."  The  truth 
is,  the  "practical"  man,  so  called,  extends  his  views  no 
farther  than  the  fact  before  him.  Even  when  he  is  so  for- 
tunate as  to  learn  its  cause,  the  discovery  is  comparatively 
useless,  since  it  affords  no  light  in  new  and  more  complex 
cases.  The  scientific  man,  unsatisfied  with  the  observation 
of  one  fact,  collects  many,  and  by  tracing  the  points  of 
resemblance,  deduces  a  comprehensive  truth  of  universal 
application.  "Practical"  men  conduct  the  details  of  ordi- 
nary business  with  a  masterly  hand.  As  Burke  said  of 
George  Grenville,  they  do  admirably  well  so  long  as  things 
move  on  in  the  accustomed  channel,  and  a  new  and  troubled 
scene  is  not  opened;  but  they  are  not  fitted  to  contend  suc- 
cessfully with  the  difficulties  of  an  untried  and  hazardous ' 
situation.  When  "  the  high  roads  are  broken  up,  and  the 
waters  are  out,"  when  a  new  state  of  things  is  presented, 
and  "the  line  affords  no  precedent,"  then  it  is  that  they 
show  a  mind  trained  in  a  subordinate  sphere, .  formed  for 
servile  imitation,  and  destined  to  borrow  its  lights  of 
another.  "Expert  men,"  says  Bacon,  "can  execute,  and 
perhaps  judge  of  particulars,  one  by  one;  but  the  general 
counsels,  and  the  plots  and  marshalling  of  affairs,  come  best 
from  those  that  are  learned." 

Among  the  current  phrases  of  the  day,  by  which  men 
are  led  into  error,  one  of  the  commonest  is  the  expression 
doing  good.  Properly  understood,  "to  do  good"  is  to  do 
right;  but  the  phrase  has  acquired  a  technical  sense  which 
is  much  narrower.  It  means,  not  discharging  faithfully 
the  duties  of  one's  calling,  but  stepping  aside  from  its 
routine  to  relieve  the  poor,  the  distressed,  and  the  ignorant, 
or  to  reform  the  sinful.  The  lawyer  who,  for  a  fee,  con- 


248  WOEDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

scientiously  gives  advice,  or  pleads  in  the  courts,  is  not 
thought  to  be  doing  good;  but  he  is  so  regarded  if  he  gra- 
tuitously defends  a  poor  man  or  a  widow.  A  merchant  who 
sells  good  articles  at  fair  prices,  and  pays  his  notes  punc- 
tually, is  not  doing  good;  but  he  is  doing  good,  if  he  car- 
ries broth  and  blankets  to  beggars,  teaches  in  a  Sunday 
School,  supports  a  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  or 
distributes  tracts  to  the  irreligious.  Charitable  and  philan- 
thropic societies  of  every  kind  are  all  recognized  as  organs 
for  doing  good;  but  the  common  pursuits  of  life, —  law, 
medicine,  agriculture,  manufacturing,  trading,  etc. —  are 
not. 

The  incorrectness  of  this  view  will  be  seen  if  we  for  a 
moment  reflect  what  would  become  of  society,  including  its 
charitable  institutions  and  philanthropists,  should  its  differ- 
ent members  refuse  to  perform  their  respective  functions. 
Society  is  a  body  corporate,  which  can  exist, —  at  least,  in  a 
healthy  state, —  only  on  condition  that  each  man  performs 
the  specific  work  which  Providence,  or  his  own  sense  of  his 
fitness  for  it,  has  assigned  to  him.  Thus  one  man  tills  the 
ground;  another  engages  in  manufacturing;  a  third  gathers 
and  distributes  the  produce  of  labor  in  its  various  forms;  a 
fourth  loans  or  exchanges  money;  a  fifth  makes  or  executes 
laws;  and  each  of  these  persons,  as  he  is  contributing  to 
the  general  good,  is  doing  good  as  truly  as  the  most 
devoted  clergyman  who  labors  in  the  cure  of  souls,  or 
philanthropist  who  carries  loaves  of  bread  to  hovels.  To 
deny  this,  it  has  been  well  said,  is  to  say  that  a  commis- 
sariat or  transport  corps  has  nothing  to  do  with  carrying 
on  a  war,  and  that  this  business  is  discharged  entirely  by 
the  men  who  stand  in  line  of  battle  or  mount  the  breach. 

The   popular   theory   proceeds   upon   two    assumptions, 


THE    FALLACIES   IN    WORDS.  249 

both  of  which  are  false;  first,  that  the  motives  which  urge 
men  to  diligence  in  their  callings  are  mean  and  paltry, — 
that  selfishness  is  the  mainspring  which  causes  all  the 
wheels  in  the  great  machine  of  society  to  revolve;  and, 
secondly,  that  pursuits  which  benefit  those  who  prosecute 
them  are  necessarily  selfish.  The  truth  is,  the  best  work, 
and  a  very  large  part  of  the  work,  done  in  every  calling, 
is  done  not  from  a  mean  and  sordid  hunger  for  its  emol- 
uments, whether  of  money,  rank,  or  fame,  but  from  a 
sincere  love  for  it,  and  pride  in  performing  its  duties  well 
and  creditably.  The  moment  a  man  begins  to  lose  this 
esprit  de  corps,  this  high-minded  professional  pride,  and  to 
find  his  reward  in  his  pay,  and  not  in  his  work,  that 
moment  his  work  begins  to  deteriorate,  and  he  ceases  to 
meet  with  the  highest  success.  If  pursuits  which  benefit 
those  who  follow  them  are  necessarily  selfish,  then  phil- 
anthropy itself  is  selfish,  for  its  rewards,  in  popular  esti- 
mation, are  of  the  noblest  kind.  No  sane  man  will 
depreciate  the  blessings  that  result  from  the  labors  of  the 
Howards,  the  Frys,  and  the  Nightingales;  but  they  bear 
the  same  relation  to  the  ordinary  pursuits  of  life  that 
medicine  bears  to  food.  Doctors  and  surgeons  are  useful 
members  of  society;  but  their  services  are  less  needed 
than  those  of  butchers  and  bakers.  Let  the  farmer  cease 
to  sow  and  reap,  let  the  loom  and  the  anvil  be  forsaken, 
and  the  courts  of  justice  be  closed,  and  not  only  will  the 
philanthropist  starve,  but  society  will  speedily  become  a 
den  of  robbers,  if  it  does  not  utterly  cease  to  exist. 

Mr.  Mill  notices  an  ambiguity  in  the  word  right,  which 

has  been  made  the  occasion  of  an  ingenious  sophism.     A 

man  asserts  that  he  has  a  right  to  publish  his  opinions, 

which  may  be  true  in  one  sense,  namely,  that  it  would  be 

11* 


250  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

wrong  in  any  other  person  to  hinder  or  prevent  their 
publication;  but  it  does  not  follow  that,  in  publishing  his 
opinions,  he  is  doing  right,  for  this  is  an  entirely  distinct 
proposition  from  the  other.  Its  truth  depends  upon  two 
things;  first,  whether  he  has  taken  due  pains  to  ascertain 
that  the  opinions  are  true,  and  second,  whether  their 
publication  in  this  manner,  and  at  this  time,  will  pro- 
bably be  beneficial  to  the  interests  of  truth  on  the  whole. 
Another  sophism,  based  on  the  ambiguity  of  the  same 
word,  is  that  of  confounding  a  right  of  any  kind  with  a 
right  to  enforce  that  right  by  resisting  or  punishing  any 
violation  of  it,  as  in  the  case  of  a  people  whose  right  to 
good  government  is  ignored  by  tyrannical  rulers.  The 
right  or  liberty  of  the  people  to  turn  out  their  rulers,  is 
so  far  from  being  the  same  thing  as  the  other,  that  "  it 
depends  upon  an  immense  number  of  varying  circum- 
stances, and  is  altogether  one  of  the  knottiest  questions 
in  practical  ethics." 

No  two  terms  are  more  frequently  confounded  in  these 
days  than  piety  and  religion.  Not  a  few  persons  think 
they  are  religious  because  they  have  pious  inclinations, 
which  no  more  necessarily  follows  than  that  a  man  has 
learning  or  money  because  he  has  a  desire  for  learning  or 
money.  It  has  been  well  said  that  ai  man  has  not  a  re- 
ligion simply  by  having  pious  inclinations,  any  more  than 
he  has  a  country  simply  by  having  philanthropy.  A  man 
has  not  a  country  until  he  is  a  citizen  of  the  State,  until 
he  undertakes  to  follow  and  uphold  certain  laws;  to  obey 
certain  magistrates,  and  to  adopt  certain  ways  of  acting 
and  living. 

Montaigne  complains  with  good  reason  that  too  many 
definitions,  explanations,  and  replies  to  difficult  questions, 


THE   FALLACIES   IN   WORDS.  251 

are  purely  verbal.  "  I  demand  what  nature  is,  what  pleas- 
ure, circle,  and  substition  are?  The  question  is  about 
words,  and  is  answered  accordingly.  A  stone  is  a  body; 
but  if  a  man  should  further  urge,  and  what  is  body?  Sub- 
stance; and  what  is  substance?  and  so  on,  he  would  drive 
the  respondent  to  the  end  of  his  calepin.  We  exchange 
one  word  for  another,  and  ofttimes  for  one  less  understood. 
I  better  know  what  man  is,  than  I  know  what  animal  is,  or 
mortal,  or  rational.  To  satisfie  one  doubt,  they  pop  me  in 
the  mouth  with  three;  'tis  the  Hydra's  head."" 

From  all  this  it  will  be  seen  that  our  words  are,  to  a 
large  extent,  carelessly  employed, —  the  signs  of  crude  and 
indefinite  generalizations.  But  even  when  the  greatest 
care  is  taken  in  the  employment  of  words,  it  is  nearly 
impossible  to  choose  and  put  them  together  so  exquisitely 
that  a  sophist  may  not  wrest  and  pervert  their  meaning. 
Those  persons  who  have  ever  had  a  lawsuit  need  not  be 
told  how  much  ingenious  argument  may  hang  on  a  shade 
of  meaning,  to  be  determined  objectively  without  refer- 
ence to  the  fancied  intentions  of  the  legislator  or  the 
writer.  If,  in  ordinary  life,  words  represent  impressions 
and  ideas,  in  legal  instruments  they  are  things;  they  dis- 
pose of  property,  liberty,  and  life;  they  express  the  will  of 
the  law-giver,  and  become  the  masters  of  our  social  being. 
Yet  so  carelessly  are  they  used  by  lawyers  and  legislators, 
that  half  the  money  spent  in  litigation  goes  to  determine 
the  meanings  of  words  and  phrases.  O'Connell  used  to 
assert  that  he  could  drive  a  coach-and-six  through  an  Act 
of  Parliament.  Many  of  our  American  enactments  yawn 
with  chasms  wide  enough  for  a  whole  railway  train.  But 
even  when  laws  have  been  framed  with  the  most  consum- 

*  "  Essays,"  Cotton's  edition. 


252  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

mate  skill,  the  subtlety  of  a  Choate  or  a  Follett  may  twist 
what  appears  to  be  the  clearest  and  most  unmistakable  lan- 
guage into  a  meaning  the  very  opposite  to.  that  which  the 
common  sense  of  mankind  would  give  it. 

We  have  heard  Judge  Story  make  the  following  state- 
ment to  show  the  extreme  difficulty  of  framing  a  statute 
so  as  to  avoid  all  ambiguity  in  its  language.  Being  once 
employed  by  Congress  to  draft  an  important  law,  he  spent 
six  months  in  trying  to  perfect  its  phraseology,  so  that  its 
sense  would  be  clear  beyond  a  shadow  of  a  doubt,  leaving 
not  the  smallest  loophole  for^  a  lawyer  to  creep  through. 
Yet,  in  less  than  a  year,  after  having  heard  the  arguments 
of  two  able  attorneys,  in  a  suit  which  came  before  him 
as  a  Judge  of  the  United  States  Supreme  Court,  he  was 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  decide  upon  the  statute's  meaning! 

A  signal  illustration  of  the  ambiguity  that  lurks  in 
the  most  familiar  words,  is  furnished  by  a  legal  question 
that  was  fruitful  of  controversy  and  "  costs  "  not  long  ago 
in  England.  An  English  nobleman,  Lord  Henry  Seymour, 
who  lived  in  Paris  many  years,  executed  a  will  in  1856, 
wherein  he  made  a  bequest  of  property  worth  seventy 
thousand  pounds  to  the  hospitals  of  London  and  Paris. 
No  sooner  was  it  known  that  he  was  dead,  than  the  ques- 
tion was  raised,  what  does  "London"  mean?  Where  are 
its  limits,  and  what  is  its  area?  What  does  it  contain,  and 
what  does  it  exclude?  Four  groups  of  claimants  appeared, 
each  to  some  extent  opposed  by  the  other  three.  Group 
the  first  said,  "The  gift  is  obviously  confined  to  the  City 
proper  of  London," — that  is,  "London  within  the  walls," 
comprising  little  more  than  half  of  a  square  mile.  "  Not 
so,"  protested  group  the  second;  "it  extends  to  all  the 
hospitals  within  the  old  bills  of  mortality," — that  is, 


THE    FALLACIES   IN    WOEDS.  253 

London,  Westminster,  Southwark,  and  about  thirty  out- 
parishes,  but  excluding  Marylebone,  St.  Pancras,  Padding- 
ton,  Chelsea,  and  everything  beyond.  Group  the  third 
insisted  that  "  London "  included  "All  the  area  within 
the  metropolitan  boroughs " ;  while  group  the  fourth,  for 
cogent  reasons  of  their  own,  were  positive  that  the  testator 
meant,  and  the  true  construction  was,  nothing  less  than 
the  whole  area  included  within  the  Registrar-General's 
and  the  Census  Commissioner's  interpretation  of  the  word 
"Metropolis."  The  Master  of  the  Rolls  decided  that  the 
testator  meant  to  use  the  word  "  London  "  in  its  full,  com- 
plete, popular  sense,  as  including  all  the  busily-occupied  dis- 
tricts of  what  is  usually  called  the  Metropolis,  as  it  existed 
in  the  year  when  the  will  was  made.  No  sooner,  however, 
was  this  vexed  question  settled,  than  another,  hardly  less 
puzzling,  arose, —  namely,  What  is  a  "Hospital"?  Nearly 
every  kind  of  charitable  institution  put  in  its  claim;  but 
it  was  finally  decided  that  only  such  charities  should  share 
in  the  bequest  as  fell  within  the  definition  of  the  French 
word  hospice  used  in  the  will. 

Another  perplexing  question  which  came  before  the 
English  courts  some  years  ago,  and  which  not  less  vividly 
shows  the  importance  of  attention  to  the  words  we  use, 
related  to  the  meaning  of  the  word  team,  as  used  by 
writers  generally,  and  used  in  a  written  agreement.  A 
certain  noble  duke  made  an  agreement  with  one  of  his 
tenants  in  Oxfordshire  concerning  the  occupancy  of  a 
farm,  and  a  portion  of  the  agreement  was  couched  in  the 
following  terms:  "The  tenant  to  perform  each  year  for 

the  Duke  of  ,  at  the  rate  of   one  day's   team-work, 

with  two  horses  and  one  proper  person,  for  every  fifty 
pounds  of  rent,  when  required  (except  at  hay  or  corn 


254  WOKDS;  THEIK  USE  ANI>  ABUSK. 

harvest),  without  being  paid  for  the  same.  In  other  words, 
the  rent  of  the  farm  was  made  up  of  two  portions,  the 
larger  being  a  money  payment,  and  the  former  a  certain 
amount  of  farm  service.  All  went  on  quietly  and  smoothly 
in  reference  to  this  agreement,  until  one  particular  day, 
when  the  duke's  agent  or  bailiff  desired  the  farmer  to  send 
a  cart  to  fetch  coals  from  a  railway  station  to  the  ducal 
mansion.  "Certainly  not,"  said  the  farmer.  "I'll  send 
the  horses  and  a  man,  but  you  must  find  the  cart."  "  Pooh, 
pooh!  what  do  you  mean?  Does  not  your  agreement  bind 
you  to  do  team-work  occasionally  for  his  Grace?"  "Yes, 
and  here's  the  team;  two  horses  and  a  careful  man  to 
drive  them."  "  But  there  can't  be  a  team  without  a  cart 
or  wagon."  "  0  yes,  there  can,  the  horses  are  the  team." 
"  No,  the  horses  and  cart  together  are  the  team." 

The  question  which  the  court  was  called  on  to  decide  in 
the  lawsuit  which  followed,  was, —  what  is  a  team?  The 
case  was  at  first  tried  at  Oxford,  before  a  common  jury, 
who  gave  a  verdict  substantially  for  the  duke.  A  rule 
was  afterwards  obtained,  with  a  view  to  bring  the  question 
of  definition  before  the  judges  at  the  Court  of  Queen's 
Bench.  The  counsel  for  the  duke  contended  that  as  team- 
work cannot  be  done  by  horses  without  a  cart  or  wagon,  it 
is  obvious  that  a  team  must  include  a  vehicle  as  well  as  the 
horses  by  which  it  is  to  be  drawn.  Mr.  Justice  A  said 
that,  in  the  course  of  his  reading,  he  had  met  with  some 
lines  which  tend  to  show  that  the  team  is  separate  from 
the  cart, — 

"Giles  Jelt  was  sleeping,  in  his  cart  he  lay; 
Some  waggish  pilfrers  stole  his  team  away. 
Giles  wakes  and  cries,  '  Ods  Bodikins,  what's  here? 
Why,  how  now;  am  I  Giles  or  not? 
If  he,  I've  lost  six  geldings  to  my  smart; 
If  not,  Ods  Bodikins,  I've  found  a  cart,'" 


THE   FALLACIES   IN   WOKDS.  255 

Mr.  Justice  B  quoted  a  line  from  Wordsworth, — 

"  My  jolly  team  will  work  alone  for  me," 

as  proving  the  farmer's  interpretation,  seeing  that,  though 
horses  might  possibly  be  jolly,  a  cart  cannot.  The  counsel 
for  his  Grace  urged  that  the  dictionaries  of  Johnson  and 
Walker  both  speak  of  a  team  as  "  a  number  of  horses 
drawing  the  same  carriage."  "True,"  said  Justice  A,  "do 
not  these  citations  prove  that  the  team  and  the  carriage 
are  distinct  things?"  "No,"  replied  the  counsel  on  the 
duke's  side;  "because  a  team  without  a  cart  would  be  of 
no  use."  He  cited  the  description  given  by  Caesar  of  the 
mode  of  fighting  in  chariots  adopted  by  the  ancient  Britons, 
and  of  the  particular  use  and  meaning  of  the  word  tema- 
nem.  From  Caesar  he  came  down  to  Gray,  the  English 
poet,  and  cited  the  lines, — 

"Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  hath  broke; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield, 
How  bowed  the  wood  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke;" 

and  from  Gray  he  came  down  to  the  far-famed  "Bull  Run" 
affair  in  the  recent  American  Civil  War,  a  graphic  account 
of  which  told  that  "the  teamsters  cut  the  traces  of  the 
horses." 

The  counsel  for  the  farmer,  on  the  other  hand,  referred 
to  Richardson's  English  dictionary,  and  to  Bosworth's 
Anglo-Saxon  dictionary,  for  support  to  the  assertion  that 
a  team  implies  only  the  horses,  not  the  vehicle  also;  and 
he  then  gave  the  following  citations  to  the  same  effect 
from  Spenser: 

"Thee  a  ploughman  all  unmeeting  found, 
As  he  his  toilsome  team  that  way  did  guide, 
And  brought  thee  up  a  ploughman's  state  to  bide." 


256  WOEDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

From  Shakspeare, — 

"We  fairies  that  do  run, 
By  the  triple  Hecat's  team, 
From  the  presence  of  the  sun, 
Following  darkness  like  a  dream." 

Again  from  Shakspeare, — 

"I  am  in  love,  but  a  team  of  horse  shall 
Not  pluck  that  from  me, 'nor  who  't  is  I  love." 

From  Dryden, — 

"He  heaved  with  more  than  human  force  to  move 
A  weighty  straw,  the  labor  of  a  team." 

Again  from  Dryden, —  . 

"Any  number,  and  passing  in  a  line: 
Like  a  long  team  of  snowy  swans  on  high, 
Which  clap  their  wings  and  cleave  the  liquid  sky." 

Spenser,  Roscommon,  Martineau,  and  other  authorities, 
were  also  cited  to  the  same  purport,  and  all  the  light 
which  English  literature  could  throw  upon  the  point  \v;is 
converged  upon  it.  The  learned  judges  were  divided  in 
their  opinions,  one  deciding  that  the  word  "  team "  clearly 
implied  the  cart  as  well  as  the  horses,  two  other  judges 
deciding  that  it  was  enough  if  the  farmer  sent  the  horse 
and  the  driver  to  be  put  to  such  service  as  the  duke's  agent 
might  please.  The  arguments  by  which  each  supported  his 
conclusion  were  so  acute,  cogent,  and  weighty,  that  their 
disagreement  seems  to  have  been  inevitable. 

Hobbes,  in  a  memorable  passage  in  the  "  Leviathan," 
from  which  we  have  already  quoted,  says:  "Seeing  that 
truth  consisteth  in  the  right  ordering  of  names  in  our 
affirmations,  a  man  that  seeketh  precise  truth  had  need  to 
remember  what  every  name  he  useth  stands  for,  and  to 
place  it  accordingly;  or  else  he  will  find  himself  entangled 
in  words  as  a  bird  in  limetwigs, —  the  more  he  struggles, 


THE   FALLACIES   IN   WOEDS.  257 

the  more  belirned.  Words  are  wise  men's  counters, —  they 
do  but  reckon  by  them;  but  they  are  the  money  of  fools, 
that  value  them  by  the  authority  of  an  Aristotle,  a  Cicero, 
a  Thomas,  or  any  other  doctor  whatsoever."  Fuller 
quaintly  suggests  that  the  reason  why  the  Schoolmen 
wrote  in  so  bald  a  style  was,  "  that  the  vermin  of  equivo- 
cation might  not  hide  themselves  in  the  nap  of  their 
words."  The  definition  of  words  has  been  often  regarded 
as  a  mere  pedagogue's  exercise;  but  when  we  call  to  mind 
the  persecutions,  proscriptions,  tortures,  and  even  massa- 
cres, which  have  resulted  from  mistakes  about  the  mean- 
ing of  certain  words,  the  office  of  the  lexicographer  assumes 
a  grave  and  dignified  aspect.  It  is  not  enough,  however, 
in  guarding  against  error,  to  discriminate  our  words,  so  as 
to  understand  their  exact  force.  We  must  also  keep  con- 
stantly in  mind  the  fact  that  language,  when  used  with 
the  utmost  precision,  is  at  best  but  an  imperfect  repre- 
sentation of  thought.  Words  are  properly  neither  the 
"  names  of  things,"  as  modern  writers  have  defined  them, 
nor,  as  the  ancients  viewed  them,  the  "  pictures  of  ideas." 
The  most  they  can  do  is  to  express  the  relations  of  things; 
they  are,  as  Hobbes  said,  "  the  signs  of  our  conceptions," 
serving  as  a  mark  to  recall  to  ourselves  the  likeness  of  a 
former  thought,  and  as  a  sign  to  make  it  known  to  others. 
Even  as  the  signs  of  our  conceptions,  they  are  at  best 
imperfect  and  unsatisfactory,  representing  only  approxi- 
mately what  we  think,  and  never  coordinating  with  the 
conceptions  they  are  used  to  represent.  "  Seizing  on  some 
characteristic  mark  of  the  conception,  they  always  express 
too  little  or  too  much.  They  are  sometimes  distinctly 
metaphorical,  sometimes  indefinitely  assertive;  sometimes 
too  concrete,  sometimes  too  abstract."  Our  sentences  are 


258  WORDS  ;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

not  images  of  thought,  reflected  in  a  perfect  mirror,  nor 
photographs  which  lack  coloring  only;  they  are  but  the 
merest  skeleton  of  expression,  hints  of  meaning,  tentative 
signs,  which  can  put  another  only  into  a  partial  possession 
of  our  consciousness.  To  apprehend  perfectly  the  thought 
of  another  man,  even  one  who  uses  language  with  the  ut- 
most nicety  and  accuracy,  we  need  to  know  his  individu- 
ality, his  entire  past  history;  we  must  interpret  and  sup- 
plement his  meaning  by  all  that  we  know  of  his  intellectual 
and  moral  constitution,  his  ways  of  thinking,  feeling,  and 
speaking ;  we  must  be  en  rapport  with  him ;  and  even  then 
we  may  fail  to  penetrate  to  the  central  meaning  of  his 
words,  the  very  core  of  his  thought. 

The  soul  of  every  man  is  a  mystery  which  no  other  man 
can  fathom;  we  are,  as  one  has  said,  spirits  in  prison,  able 
only  to  make  signals  to  each  other,  but  with  a  world  of 
things  to  think  and  say  which  our  signals  cannot  describe 
at  all.  There  is  hardly  an  abstract  term  in  any  language 
which  conveys  precisely  the  same  meaning  to  two  different 
minds;  every  word  is  sure  to  awaken  in  one  mind  more 
or  less  different  associations  from  those  it  awakens  in 
another.  Words  mean  the  same  thing  only  to  persons  who 
are  psychologically  the  same,  and  who  have  had  the  same 
experiences.  It  is  obvious  that  no  word  can  explain  any 
sensation,  pleasant  or  painful,  to  one  who  has  never  felt 
the  sensation.  When  Saunderson,  who  was  born  blind, 
tried  to  define  red,  he  compared  that  color  to  the  blowing 
of  a  trumpet,  or  the  crowing  of  a  cock.  In  like  manner 
a  deaf  man  in  England,  in  trying  to  describe  the  sound  of 
a  trumpet,  said  that  it  was  red.  The  statement  that 
words  have  to  two  persons  a  common  meaning  only  when 
they  suggest  ideas  of  a  common  experience,  is  true  even  of 


THE   FALLACIES   IN    WOKDS.  259 

the  terms  we  stop  to  ponder;  how  much  more  true,  then, 
of  words  whose  full  and  exact  meaning  we  no  more  pause 
to  consider,  than  we  reflect  that  the  gold  eagle  which  passes 
through  our  hands  is  a  thousand  cents.  Try  to  ascertain 
the  meaning  of  the  most  familiar  words  which  are  drop- 
ping from  men's  lips,  and  you  find  that  each  has  its 
history,  and  that  many  are  an  epitome  of  the  thoughts 
and  observations  of  ages. 

What  two  persons,  for  example,  attach  the  same  mean- 
ing to  the  words  democracy,  conservatism,  radicalism,  educa- 
tion? What  is  the  meaning  of  gentleman,  comfortable, 
competence?  De  Quincey  says  that  he  knew  several  persons 
in  England  with  annual  incomes  bordering  on  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds,  who  spoke  of  themselves,  and  seemed  seriously 
to  think  themselves,  "  unhappy  paupers/'  Lady  Hester 
Stanhope,  with  an  income  of  two  thousand  seven  hundred 
pounds  a  year,  thought  herself  an  absolute  pauper  in 
London,  and  went  to  live  in  the  mountains  of  Syria;  "for 
how,  you  know,"  she  would  say  pathetically,  "  could  the 
humblest  of  spinsters  live  decently  on  that  pittance?"  Do 
the  amiable  and  the  revengeful,  the  chaste  and  the  licen- 
tious, mean  the  same  thing  when  they  speak  of  love  or  hate? 
With  what  precious  meaning  are  the  words  home  and 
heaven  flooded  to  some  persons,  and  with  what  icy  indiffer- 
ence are  they  heard  by  others? 

So  imperfect  is  language  that  it  is  doubtful  whether 
such  a  thing  as  a  self-evident  verbal  proposition,  the  abso- 
lute truth  of  which  can  never  be  contested,  is  possible;  for 
it  can  never  be  absolutely  certain  what  is  the  meaning  of 
the  words  in  which  the  proposition  is  expressed,  and  the 
assertion  that  it  is  founded  on  partial  observation,  or  that 
the  words  imperfectly  express  the  observation  on  which  it  is 


260  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

founded,  or  are  incomplete  metaphors,  or  are  defective  in 
some  other  respect,  must  always  be  open  to  proof.  Thus, 
for  example,  a  late  writer,  criticising  Mr.  Hansel's  doctrine 
of  consciousness,  in  his  "Metaphysics,"  asks:  "What  is 
meant  by  any  one  of  the  words  which  enter  into  the  propo- 
sitions asserted  by  Mr.  Mansel  to  be  absolutely  and  eter- 
nally true?  Consciousness,  he  says,  assures  me  of  my  own 
existence.  But  no  one,  as  Mr.  Mansel  would  say,  is  'pre- 
sentatively '  or  directly  conscious  of  a  proposition.  No  one 
feels  that  the  words  '  I  exist '  are  absolutely  true.  What  we 
all  feel  is  something  which  we  describe  by  those  words,  not 
because  we  know  that  they  are  absolutely  true,  but  because 
we  have  always  been  accustomed  to  hear  them.  Our  direct 
consciousness  neither  does  nor  can  decide  whether  any  and 
what  ambiguities  and  mysteries  lurk  in  the  two  words, 
'  I '  and  '  exist,1  any  more  than  that  part  of  our  conscious- 
ness to  which  we  give  the  name  of  a  perception  of  water 
tells  us  of  whether  water  is  or  is  not  composed  of  oxygen 
and  hydrogen.  What  that  is  to  which  the  word  'I'  is 
affixed,  is  a  boundless  question.  The  word  'exist'  is  a 
mere  metaphor.  No  one  could  say  that  he  was  conscious 
of  the  proposition  'I  stand  out;'  and  who  can  say  what  is 
the  exact  distance  from  its  original  meaning  to  which  the 
word  has  traveled?" 

Even  words  that  designate  outward,  material  objects, 
cognizable  by  the  senses,  do  not  always  call  up  similar 
thoughts  in  different  minds.  The  meaning  they  convey 
depends  often  upon  the  mental  qualities  of  the  hearer. 
Thus  the  word  sun  uttered  to  an  unlettered  man  of  fee- 
ble mental  powers,  conveys  simply  the  idea  of  a  ball  of 
light  and  heat,  which  rises  in  the  sky  in  the  morning,  and 
goes  down  at  evening;  but  to  the  man  of  vivid  imagina- 


THE  FALLACIES   IN  WOKDS.  261 

tion,  who  is  familiar  with  modern  scientific  discoveries,  it 
suggests,  more  or  less  distinctly,  all  that  science  has  re- 
vealed concerning  that  luminary.  If  we  estimate  words 
according  to  their  etymological  meaning,  we  shall  still 
more  clearly  see  how  inadequate  they  are  in  themselves  to 
involve  the  mass  of  facts  which  they  connote, — ."as  inad- 
equate as  is  a  thin  and  worthless  bit  of  paper  which  yet 
may  represent  a  thousand  pounds.  .  .  Take  a  word  ex- 
pressive of  the  smallest  possible  modification  of  matter, — 
a  word  invented  in  the  most  expressive  language  in  the 
world,  and  invented  by  no  less  eminent  a  philosopher  than 
Democritus,  and  that,  too,  with  great  applause, —  the  word 
atom,  meaning  that  which  cannot  be  cut.  Yet  simple  as  is 
the  notion  to  be  expressed,  and  great  as  were  the  resources 
at  command,  what  a  failure  the  mere  word  is!  It  expresses 
too  much  and  too  little,  too  much  as  being  applicable  to 
other  things,  and  consequently  ambiguous;  too  little,  be- 
cause it  does  not  express  all  the  properties  even  of  an  atom. 
Its  inadequacy  cannot  be  more  forcibly  illustrated  than  by 
the  fact  that  its  precise  Latin  equivalent  is  by  us  confined 
to  the  single  acceptation  'insect!'"* 

But  if  words  are  but  imperfect  symbols  for  designating 
material  objects,  how  much  more  unequal  must  they  be  to 
the  task  of  expressing  that  which  lies  above  and  behind 
matter  and  sensation, —  especially  as  all  abstract  terms  are 
metaphors  taken  from  sensible  objects!  How  many  feel- 
ings do  we  have,  in  the  course  of  our  lives,  which  beggar 
description!  How  many  apprehensions,  limitations,  dis- 
tinctions, opinions  are  clearly  present,  at  times,  to  our 
consciousness,  which  elude  every  attempt  to  give  them 
verbal  expression!  Even  the  profoundest  thinkers  and  the 

*"  Chapters  on  Language,"  by  F.  W.  Farrar. 


262  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

most  accurate,  hair-splitting  writers,  who  weigh  and  test  t<> 
the  bottom  every  term  they  use,  are  baffled  in  the  effort  so 
to  convey  their  conclusions  as  to  defy  all  misapprehension 
or  successful  refutation.  Beginning  with  definitions,  they 
find  that  the  definitions  themselves  need  defining;  and  just 
at  the  triumphant  moment  when  the  structure  of  argument 
seems  complete  and  logic-proof,  some  lynx-eyed  adversary 
detects  an  inaccuracy  or  a  contradiction  in  the  use  of  some 
keystone  term,  and  the  whole  magnificent  pile,  so  painfully 
reared,  tumbles  into  ruins. 

The  history  of  controversy,  in  short,  in  all  ages  and 
nations,  is  a  history  of  disputes  about  words.  The  hardest 
problems,  the  keenest  negotiations,  the  most  momentous 
decisions,  have  turned  on  the  meaning  of  a  phrase,  a  term, 
or  even  a  particle.  A  misapplied  or  sophistical  expression 
has  provoked  the  fiercest  and  most  interminable  quarrels. 
Misnomers  have  turned  the  tide  of  public  opinion:  verbal 
fallacies  have  filled  men's  souls  with  prejudice,  rage,  and 
hate;  and  "the  sparks  of  artful  watchwords,  thrown  among 
combustible  materials,  have  kindled  the  flames  of  deadly 
war  and  changed  the  destiny  of  empires." 


NICKNAMES.  •  '        263 


CHAPTER  XII 

NICKNAMES. 

The  word  nick  in  nickname  is  cognate  with  the  German  word  necken,  to 
mock,  to  quiz,  and  the  English  word  nay,  to  tease,  or  provoke. — W.  L. 
BI.ACKLEY,  Word- Gossip. 

A  good  name  will  wear  out.  a  bad  one  may  be  turned:  a  nickname  lasts 
for  ever.— ZIMMERMAN. 

J'ai  etc  toujonrs  etonne.  que  les  Families  qui  portent  tin  Nom  odieux  on 
ridicule,  ne  le  quittent  pa?. — BATI.E. 

A  MONG  the  books  that  need  to  be  written,  one  of  the 
-£jL.  most  instructive  would  be  a  treatise  on  the  history 
and  influence  of  nicknames.  Philosophers  who  study  the 
great  events  in  the  world's  history,  are  too  apt,  in  their 
eagerness  to  discover  adequate  causes,  to  overlook  the  ap- 
parently trifling  means  by  which  mankind  are  influenced. 
They  are  eloquent  enough  upon  the  dawning  of  a  new  idea 
in  the  world  when  its  effects  are  set  forth  in  all  the  pomp 
of  elaborate  histories  and  disquisitions;  but  they  would  do 
a  greater  service  by  showing  how  and  when,  by  being  con- 
densed into  a  pithy  word  or  phrase,  it  wins  the  acceptance 
of  mankind.  The  influence  of  songs  upon  a  people  in 
times  of  excitement  and  revolution  is  familiar  to  all. 
"  When  the  French  mob  began  to  sing  the  Marseillaise, 
they  had  evidently  caught  the  spirit  of  the  Revolution; 
and  what  a  song  is  to  a  political  essay,  a  nickname  is  to 
a  song."  In  itself  such  a  means  of  influence  may  seem 
trivial;  and  yet  history  shows  that  it  is  no  easy  thing  to 
estimate  the  force  of  these  ingenious  appellations. 


264  WORDS;    THEIR   USE  AND  ABUSE. 

In  politics,  it  has  long  been  observed  that  no  orator  can 
compare  for  a  moment  in  effect  with  him  who  can  give  apt 
and  telling  nicknames.  Brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit,  and  of 
all  eloquence  a  nickname  is  the  most  concise  and  irresist- 
ible. It  is  a  terse,  pointed,  short-hand  mode  of  reasoning, 
condensing  a  volume  of  meaning  into  an  epithet,  and  is 
especially  popular  in  these  days  of  steam  and  electric  tele- 
graphs, because  it  saves  the  trouble  of  thinking.  There 
is  a  deep  instinct  in  man  which  prompts  him,  when  engaged 
in  any  controversy,  whether  of  tongue  or  pen,  to  assume 
to  himself  some  honorable  name  which  begs  the  whole 
matter  in  dispute,  and  at  the  same  time  to  fasten  on  his 
adversary  a  name  which  shall  render  him  ridiculous,  odious, 
or  contemptible.  By  facts  and  logic  you  may  command  the 
assent  of  the  few;  but  by  nicknames  you  may  enlist  the 
passions  of  the  million  on  your  side.  Who  can  doubt  that 
when,  in  the  English  civil  wars,  the  Parliamentary  party 
styled  themselves  "the  Godly"  and  their  opponents  "the 
Malignants,"  the  question  at  issue,  wherever  entrance  could 
be  gained  for  these  words,  was  already  decided?  Who  can 
estimate  how  much  the  Whig  party  in  this  country  was 
damaged  by  the  derisive  sarcasm,  "All  the  decency,"  or  its 
opponents  by  the  appellation  of  "Locofocos"?  Is  it  not 
certain  that  the  odious  name,  "Copperheads,"  which  was 
so  early  in  our  late  Civil  War  affixed  to  the  Northern  sym- 
pathizers with  the  South,  had  an  incalculable  influence  in 
gagging  their  mouths,  and  in  preventing  their  numbers 
from  multiplying? 

It  has  been  truly  said  that  in  the  distracted  times  of 
early  revolution,  any  nickname,  however  vague,  will  fully 
answer  a  purpose,  though  neither  those  who  are  blackened 
by  the  odium,  nor  those  who  cast  it,  can  define  the  hateful 


NICKKAMES.  265 

appellative.  When  the  term  "delinquents"  came  into 
vogue  in  England,  "it  expressed  a  degree  and  species  of 
guilt,"  says  Hume,  "not  easily  known  or  ascertained.  It 
served,  however,  the  end  of  those  revolutionists  who  had 
coined  it,  by  involving  any  person  in,  or  coloring  any 
action  by,  'delinquency';  and  many  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry  were,  without  any  questions  being  asked,  suddenly 
discovered  to  have  committed  the  crime  of  '  delinquency.' " 
The  degree  in  which  the  political  opinions  of  our  country- 
men were  influenced,  and  their  feelings  embittered,  some 
forty  years  ago,  by  the  appellation  "Federalist"  cannot  be 
easily  estimated.  The  fact  that  many  who  heard  the  deri- 
sive title  knew  not  its  origin,  and  some  not  even  its  mean- 
ing, did  not  lessen  its  influence, —  as  an  incident  related 
by  Judge  Gaston  of  North  Carolina  well  illustrates.  In 
travelling  on  his  circuit  through  the  backwoods  of  that 
State,  he  learned  that  the  people  of  that  town  had  elected 
a  Democrat,  in  place  of  a  Whig,  to  serve  them  in  the 
legislature.  When  asked  the  reason  of  this  change,  his 
informant,  an  honest,  rough-looking  citizen,  replied:  "Oh, 
we  didn't  reelect  Mr.  A,  because  he  is  a  fetheml."  "A 
fetheral!"  exclaimed  the  judge,  "what  is  a  fetheral?"  "I 
don't  know,"  was  the  reply,  "but  it  aint  a  human.'1'' 

There  is  no  man  so  insignificant  that  he  may  not  blast 
the  reputation  of  another  by  fastening  upon  him  an  odious 
or  ludicrous  nickname.  Even  the  most  shining  character 
may  thus  be  dragged  down  by  the  very  reptiles  of  the  race 
to  the  depths  of  infamy.  A  parrot  may  be  taught  to  call 
names,  and,  if  you  have  a  spite  against  your  neighbor, 
may  be  made  to  give  him  a  deal  of  annoyance,  without 
much  wit  either  in  the  employer  or  the  puppet.  Hotspur 
would  have  had  a  starling  taught  to  speak  nothing  but 
12 


266  WOKDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Mortimer  in  the  ears  of  his  enemy.  An  insulting  or 
degrading  epithet  will  stick  to  a  man  long  after  it  has 
been  proved  malicious  or  false.  Who  could  dissociate  with 
the  name  of  Van  Buren  the  idea  of  craft  or  cunning,  after 
he  had  become  known  as  the  "Kinderhook  Fox,''  or  who 
ever  venerated  John  Tyler  as  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  the 
nation,  after  he  had  been  politically  baptized  as  "  His  Acci- 
dency"?  Who  can  tell  how  far  Gen.  Scott's  prospects  for 
the  Presidency  were  damaged  by  the  contemptuous  nick- 
name of  "Old  Fuss  and  Feathers," — especially  after  he  had 
nearly  signed  his  own  political  death-warrant  by  that  fatal 
allusion  to  "  a  hasty  plate  of  soup,"  which  convulsed  the 
nation  with  laughter  from  the  St.  Croix  to  the  Rio  Grande? 
The  hero  of  Chippewa  found  it  hard  to  breast  the  torrent 
of  ridicule  which  this  derisive  title  brought  down  upon 
him.  It  would  have  been  easier  far  to  stand  up  against 
the  iron  shock  of  the  battle-field.  Who,  again,  has  forgot- 
ten how  a  would-be  naval  bard  of  America  was  "damned 
to  everlasting  fame "  by  a  verbal  tin-pail  attached  to  his 
name  in  the  form  of  one  of  his  own  verses?*  "I  have 
heard  an  eminent  character  boast,"  says  Hazlitt,  "  that  he 
did  more  to  produce  the  war  with  Bonaparte  by  nick- 
naming him  The  Corsican,  than  all  the  state  papers  arid 
documents  on  the  subject  put  together."  Give  a  dog  a  bad 
name,  says  the  proverb,  and  you  hang  him.  It  was  only 
necessary  to  nickname  Burke  The  Dinner  Bell  to  make 
even  his  rising  to  speak  a  signal  for  a  general  emptying  of 
the  house. 

The  first  step  in  overthrowing  any  great  social  wrong  is 
to  fix  upon  it  a  name  which  expresses  its  character.  From 
the  hour  when  "  taxation  without  representation  "  came  to 

*  "The  snn  has  gone  down  with  his  battle-stained  eye." 


NICKNAMES.  267 

be  regarded  by  our  fathers  as  a  synonyme  for  tyranny, 
the  cause  of  the  colonies  was  safe.  Had  the  Southern 
slaves  been  called  by  no  other  name  than  that  used  by 
their  masters, —  namely,  servants, —  they  would  have  con- 
tinued in  bondage  till  they  had  won  their  freedom  by 
the  sword. 

The  French  Revolution  of  1789  was  fruitful  of  exam- 
ples showing  the  ease  with  which  ignorant  men  are  led  and 
excited  by  words  whose  real  import  and  tendency  they  do 
not  understand,  and  illustrating  the  truth  of  South's  re- 
mark, that  a  plausible  and  insignificant  word  in  the  mouth 
of  an  expert  demagogue  is  a  dangerous  and  destructive 
weapon.  Napoleon  was  aware  of  this,  when  he  declared 
that  "it  is  by  epithets  that  you  govern  mankind."  Destroy 
men's  reverence  for  the  names  of  institutions  hoary  with 
age,  and  you  destroy  the  institutions  themselves.  "  Pull 
down  the  nests,"  John  Knox  used  to  say,  "and  the  rooks 
will  fly  away."  The  people  of  Versailles  insulted  with 
impunity  in  the  streets,  and  at  the  gates  of  the  Assembly, 
those  whom  they  called  Aristocrats;  and  the  magic  power 
of  the  word  was  doubled,  when  aided  by  the  further  device 
of  calling  the  usurping  Commons  the  National  Assembly. 
When  the  title  of  Frondeurs,  or  "the  Slingers,"  was 
given  to  Cardinal  de  Retz's  party,  he  encouraged  its 
application,  "for  we  observed,"  says  he,  "that  the  distinc- 
tion of  a  name  healed  the  minds  of  the  people."  The 
French  showman,  who,  when  royalty  and  its  forms  were 
abolished  in  France,  changed  the  name  of  his  "Royal 
Tiger,"  so  called, —  the  pride  of  his  menagerie, —  to  "Na- 
tional Tiger,"  showed  a  profound  knowledge  of  his  coun- 
trymen and  of  the  catchwords  by  which  to  win  their 
patronage. 


268  WOIIDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

A  nickname  is  the  most  stinging  of  all  species  of 
satire,  because  it  gives  no  chance  of  reply.  Attack  a  man 
with  specific,  point-blank  charges,  and  he  can  meet  and 
repel  them;  but  a  nickname  baffles  reply  by  its  very 
vagueness;  it  presents  no  tangible  or  definite  idea  to  the 
mind,  no  horn  of  a  dilemma  with  which  the  victim  can 
grapple.  The  very  attempt  to  defend  himself  only  renders 
him  the  more  ridiculous;  it  looks  like  raising  an  ocean  to 
drown  a  fly,  or  discharging  a  cannon  at  a  wasp,  to  meet 
a  petty  gibe  with  formal  testimony  or  elaborate  argument. 
Or,  if  your  defence  is  listened  to  without  jeers,  it  avails 
you  nothing.  It  has  no  effect, —  does  not  tell, —  excites  no 
sensation.  The  laugh  is  against  you,  and  all  your  pro- 
tests come  like  the  physician's  prescription  at  the  funeral, 
too  late. 

The  significance  of  nicknames  is  strikingly  illustrated 
by  the  fact  that,  as  a  la,te  writer  suggests,  .you  cannot  prop- 
erly hate  a  man  of  different  opinions  from  your  own  till 
you  have  labelled  him  with  some  unpleasant  epithet.  In 
theological  debates,  a  heretic  may  be  defined  as  a  man 
with  a  nickname.  Till  we  have  succeeded  in  fastening  a 
name  upon  him,  he  is  confounded  among  the  general  mass 
of  the  orthodox;  his  peculiarities  are  presumably  not  suffi- 
cient to  constitute  him  into  a  separate  species.  But  let 
the  name  come  to  us  by  a  flash  of  inspiration,  and  how  it 
sticks  to  the  victim  through  his  whole  life!  There  is  a 
refinement  of  cruelty  in  some  nicknames  which  resembles 
the  barbarity  of  the  old  heathen  persecutors,  who  wrapped 
up  Christians  in  the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  so  that  they 
might  be  worried  and  torn  in  pieces  by  dogs.  "  Do  but 
paint  an  angel  black,"  says  an  old  divine,  "and  that  is 
enough  to  make  him  pass  for  a  devil."  On  the  other  hand, 


NICKNAMES.  269 

there  are  loving  nicknames,  which  are  given  to  men  by 
their  friends, —  especially  to  those  who  are  of  a  frank, 
genial,  companionable  nature.  The  name  of  Charles  Lamb 
was  ingeniously  transformed  'into  the  Latin  diminutive 
Carlagmiltis;  and  the  friends  of  Keats,  in  allusion  to  his 
occasional  excess  of  fun  and  animal  spirits,  punned  upon 
his  name,  shortening  it  from  John  Keats  into  "  Junkets." 

That  prince  of  polemics,  Cobbett,  was  a  masterly  in- 
ventor of  nicknames,  and  some  of  his  felicitous  epithets 
will  not  be  forgotten  for  many  years  to  come.  Among  the 
witty  labels  with  which  he  ticketed  his  enemies  were 
"  Scorpion  Stanley,"  "  Spinning  Jenny  Peel,"  "  the  pink- 
nosed  Liverpool,"  "the  unbaptized,  buttonless  blackguards," 
(applied  to  the  Quakers,)  and  "  Prosperity  Robinson."  The 
nickname,  "  Old  Glory,"  given  by  him,  stuck  for  life  to  Sir 
Francis  Burdett,  his  former  patron  and  life-long  creditor. 
"  ^Eolus  Canning "  provoked  unextinguishable  laughter 
among  high  and  low;  and  it  is  said  that  of  all  the  devices 
to  annoy  the  brilliant  but  vain  Lord  Erskine,  none  was 
more  teasing  than  being  constantly  addressed  by  his  second 
title  of  "  Baron  Clackmannan." 

The  meaning  of  nicknames,  as  of  many  other  words,  is 
often  a  mystery.  Often  they  are  apparently  meaningless, 
and  incapable  of  any  rational  explanation;  yet  they  are 
probably  due,  in  such  cases,  to  some  subtle,  imperceptible 
analogy,  of  which  even  their  authors  were  hardly  conscious. 
When  the  English  and  French  armies  were  encamped  in 
the  Crimea,  they,  by  common  consent,  called  the  Turks 
"  Bono  Johnny  " ;  but  it  would  not  be  easy  to  tell  why.  A 
late  French  prince  was  called  "  Plomb-plomb " ;  yet  there 
is  no  such  word  in  the  French  language,  and  different 
accounts  have  been  given  of  its  origin.  To  explain,  again, 


270  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

why  nicknames  have  such  an  influence, —  so  magical  an 
effect, —  is  equally  difficult;  one  might  as  well  try  to  explain 
why  certain  combinations  of  colors  or  musical  sounds  im- 
part an  exquisite  pleasure.  '  All  we  know,  upon  both  these 
points,  is,  that  certain  persons  are  doomed  to  be  known  by 
a  nickname;  at  the  time  of  life  when  the  word-making 
faculty  is  in  the  highest  activity,  all  their  acquaintances  are 
long  in  labor  to  hit  off  the  fit  appellation;  suddenly  it 
comes  like  an  electric  spark,  and  it  is  felt  by  everybody  to 
be  impossible  to  think  of  the  victim  without  his  appropriate 
designation.  In  vain  have  his  godfathers  and  godmothers 
called  him  Robert  or  Thomas;  "Bob,"  or  "Tom,"  or  some- 
thing wholly  unrelated  to  these,  he  is  fated  to  be  to  the  end 
of  his  days. 

Many  of  the  happiest  of  these  headmarks,  which  stick 
like  a  burr  from  the  moment  they  are  invented,  are  from 
sources  utterly  unknown;  they  appear,  they  are  on  every- 
body's lips,  but  whence  they  came  nobody  can  tell.  One 
of  the  commonest  ways  in  which  nicknames  are  suggested 
is  by  some  egregious  blunder  which  one  makes.  Thus,  a 
schoolboy  is  asked  who  demolished  Carthage,  and  answering 
" Scorpio  Africanus,"  is  promptly  nicknamed  "Old  Scorp." 
Another  way  is  by  a  glaring  contradiction  between  a  man's 
name  and  his  character, —  when  he  is  ridiculed  as  sailing 
under  false  colors,  or  claiming  a  merit  which  does  not  be- 
long to  him.  There  is  in  all  men.  as  Trench  has  observed, 
a  sense  of  the  significance  of  names, —  a  feeling  that  they 
ought  to  be,  and  in  a  world  of  absolute  truth  would  be, 
th'e  utterance  of  the  innermost  character  or  qualities  of 
the  persons  that  bear  them;  and  hence  nothing  is  more 
telling  in  a  personal  controversy  than  the  exposure  of  a 
striking  incongruity  between  a  name  and  the  person  who 


NICKNAMES.  271 

owns  it.  We  have  been  told  that  the  late  President  Lin- 
coln, on  being  introduced  to  a  very  stout  person  by  the 
name  of  Small,  remarked,  "Small,  Small!  Well,  what 
strange  names  they  do  give  men,  to  be  sure!  Why,  they've 
got  a  fellow  down  in  Virginia  whom  they  call  Wise! "  In 
the  same  spirit,  Jerome,  one  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church, 
being  engaged  in  controversy  with  one  Vigilantius,  i.e., 
"the  Watchful,"  about  certain  vigils  which  the  latter 
opposed,  stigmatized  him  as  "  Dormitantius,"  or  "  the 
Sleeper."  But  more  frequently  the  nickname  is  suggested 
by  the  real  name  where  there  is  no  such  antagonism  be- 
tween them, —  where  the  latter,  as  it  is,  or  by  a  slight 
change,  can  be  made  to  contain  a  confession  of  the  igno- 
rance or  folly  of  the  bearer.  Thus,  Tiberius  Claudius  Nero, 
in  allusion  to  his  drunkenness,  was  called  "  Biberius  Caldius 
Mero";  and  the  Arians  were  nicknamed  "Ariomanites." 
What  can  be  happier  in  this  way  than  the  "Brand  of 
Hell,"  applied  to  Pope  Hildebrand;  the  title  of  "Slan- 
ders," affixed  by  Fuller  to  Sanders,  the  foul-mouthed  libel- 
ler of  Queen  Elizabeth;  the  "Vanity"  and  "Sterility," 
which  Baxter  coined  from  the  names  of  Vane  and  Sterry; 
and  the  term  "  Sweepnet,"  which  that  skilful  master  of 
the  passions,  Cicero,  gave  to  the  infamous  Praetor  of  Sicily, 
whose  name,  Verres,  (verro,)  was  prophetic  of  his  sweeping 
the  province, —  declaring  that  others  might  be  partial  to 
the  jus  verrinum  (which  might  mean  verrine  law  or  boar 
sauce),  but  not  he? 

There  is  probably  no  country,  unless  it  be  our  own,  in 
which  nicknames  have  flourished  more  than  in  England. 
Every  party  there  has  had  its  watchwords  with  which  to 
rally  its  members,  or  to  set  on  its  own  bandogs  to  worry 
and  tear  those  of  another  faction;  and  what  is  quite  extra- 


272  WOEDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ordinary  is,  that  many  of  the  names  of  political  parties  and 
religious  sects  were  originally  nicknames  given  in  the  bit- 
terest scorn  and  party  hate,  yet  ultimately  accepted  by  the 
party  themselves.  Thus  "  Tory"  originally  meant  an  Irish 
freebooting  bog-trotter, —  an  outlaw  who  favored  the  cause 
of  James  II. ;  and  "  Whig "  is  derived  from  the  Scotch 
name  for  sour  milk,  which  was  supposed  aptly  to  character- 
ize the  disposition  of  the  Republicans.  "  Methodists  "  was 
a  name  given  in  1729,  first  to  John  and  Charles  Wesley  at 
Oxford,  on  account  of  their  close  observance  of  system  and 
method  in  their  studies  and  worship,  and  afterwards  to 
their  followers.  So  in  other  countries:  the  highest  name 
which  any  man  can  bear,  "  Christian,"  was  originally  a 
nickname,  or  little  better,  given  by  the  idle  and  witty 
inhabitants  of  Antioch.  The  Antiochenes  were  famous  in 
all  antiquity  for  their  nicknames,  for  inventing  which  they 
had  a  positive  genius.  The  "  Lutherans "  received  their 
name,  in  which  they  now  glory,  from  their  antagonists. 
"Capuchin"  was  a  jesting  name  given  by  the  boys  in  the 
streets  to  certain  Franciscan  monks,  on  account  of  the 
peaked  and  pointed  hood  (capuccio)  which  they  wore.  The 
Dominicans  gloried  all  the  more  in  their  name  when  it  was 
resolved  by  their  enemies  into  "Domini  canes";  they  were 
proud  to  acknowledge  that  they  were,  indeed,  "the  Lord's 
watchdogs,"  who  barked  at  the  slightest  appearance  of 
heresy,  and  strove  to  drive  it  away. 

The  Dutch  people  long  prided  themselves  on  the  humili- 
ating nickname  of  " Les  Gueulx"  "the  Beggars,"  which 
was  given  in  1566  to  the  revolters  against  the  rule  of 
Philip  II.  Margaret  of  Parma,  then  governor  of  the 
Netherlands,  being  somewhat  disconcerted  at  the  numbers 
of  that  party,  when  they  presented  a  petition  to  her,  was 


NICKNAMES.  273 

reassured  by  her  minister,  who  remarked  to  her  that  there 
was  nothing  to  be  feared  from  a  crowd  of  beggars.  "  Great 
was  the  indignation  of  all,"  says  Motley,  "  that  the  State 
councillor  (the  Seigneur  de  Berlaymont)  should  have  dared 
to  stigmatize  as  beggars  a  band  of  gentlemen  with  the  best 
blood  of  the  land  in  their  veins.  Brederode,  on  the  con- 
trary, smoothing  their  anger,  assured  them  with  good 
humor  that  nothing  could  be  more  fortunate.  '  They  call 
us  beggars!'  said  he;  'let  us  accept  the  name.  We  will 
contend  with  the  Inquisition,  but  remain  loyal  to  the  king, 
till  compelled  to  wear  the  beggar's  sack.'  .  .  'Long  live 
the  beggars ! '  he  cried,  as  he  wiped  his  beard  and  set  the 
bowl  down:  '  Vivent  les  gueulx!"1  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
from  the  lips  of  those  reckless  nobles  rose  the  famous  cry, 
which  was  so  often  to  ring  over  land  and  sea,  amid  blazing 
cities,  on  blood-stained  decks,  through  the  smoke  and  car- 
nage of  many  a  stricken  field.  The  humor  of  Brederode 
was  hailed  with  deafening  shouts  of  applause.  The  shib- 
boleth was  invented.  The  conjuration  which  they  had  been 
anxiously  seeking  was  found.  Their  enemies  had  provided 
them  with  a  spell,  which  was  to  prove,  in  after  days,  potent 
enough  to  start  a  spirit,  from  palace  or  hovel,  as  the  deeds 
of  the  '  wild  beggars,'  the  '  wood  beggars,'  and  the  '  beggars 
of  the  sea,'  taught  Philip  at  last  to  understand  the  nation 
which  he  had  driven  to  madness." 

In  like  manner  the  French  Protestants  accepted  and 
gloried  in  the  scornful  nickname  of  the  "  Huguenots,"  as 
did  the  two  fierce  Italian  factions  in  those  of  "Guelphs" 
and  "  Ghibbellines."  Even  the  title  of  the  British  "  Pre- 
mier," or  "  Prime  Minister,"  now  one  of  the  highest  dig- 
nity, was  at  first  a  nickname,  given  in  pure  mockery, —  the 
statesman  to  whom  it  was  applied  being  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
12* 


274  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

pole,  as  will  be  seen  by  the  following  words  spoken  by  him 
in  the  House  of  Commons  in  1742:  "Having  invested  me 
with  a  kind  of  mock  dignity,  and  styled  me  a  Prime  Min- 
ister, they  (the  opposition)  impute  to  me  an  unpardonable 
abuse  of  the  chimerical  authority  which  they  only  created 
and  conferred."  It  is  remarkable  that  the  nickname  Caesar 
has  given  the  title  to  the  heads  of  two  great  nations,  Ger- 
many and  Russia  (kaiser,  czar). 

It  is  a  fortunate  thing  when  men  who  have  been 
branded  with  names  intended  to  make  them  hateful  or 
ridiculous,  can  thus  turn  the  tables  on  their  denigreurs,  by 
accepting  and  glorying  in  their  new  titles.  It  was  this 
which  Lord  Halifax  did  when  he  was  called  "a  trimmer." 
Instead  of  quarrelling  with  the  nickname,  he  exulted  in  it 
as  a  title  of  honor.  Everything  good,  he  said,  trims  be- 
tween extremes.  The  temperate  zone  trims  between  the 
climate  in  which  men  are  roasted,  and  the  climate  in  which 
men  are  frozen.  The  English  Church  trims  between  the 
Anabaptist  madness  and  the  Papist  lethargy.  The  English 
constitution  trims  between  Turkish  despotism  and  Polish 
anarchy.  Virtue  is  nothing  biit  a  just  temper  between 
propensities,  any  one  of  which,  indulged  to  excess,  becomes 
vice.  Nay,  the  perfection  of  the  Supreme  Being  himself 
consists  in  the  exact  equilibrium  of  attributes,  none  of 
which  could  preponderate  without  disturbing  the  whole 
moral  and  physical  order  of  the  world.* 

The  nicknames  "Quaker,"  "Puritan,"  "Roundhead," 
unlike  those  we  have  just  named,  were  never  accepted  by 
those  to  whom  they  were  given.  "  Puritan "  was  first 
heard  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  was  given  to  a 
party  of  purists  who  would  have  reformed  the  Reforma- 

*Macaulay'8  "History  of  England,"  Vol.  I. 


KICKNAMES.  275 

tion.  They  were  also  ridiculed,  from  their  fastidiousness 
about  trivial  matters,  as  "  Precisians ";  Drayton  character- 
izes them  as  persons  that  for  a  painted  glass  window  would 
pull  down  the  whole  church.  The  distinction  between 
"Roundhead"  and  "Cavalier"  first  appeared  during  the 
civil  war  between  Charles  I.  and  his  Parliament.  A  foe  to 
all  outward  ornament,  the  "  Roundhead "  wore  his  hair 
cropped  close,  while  the  "Cavalier"  was  contradistin- 
guished by  his  chivalrous  tone,  his  romantic  spirit,  and  his 
flowing  locks. 

All  readers  of  history  are  familiar  with  "  The  Rump," — 
the  contemptuous  nickname  given  to  the  Long  Parliament 
at  the  close  of  its  career.  The  "Rump,"  Mr.  Disraeli 
remarks,  became  a  perpetual  whetstone  for  the  loyal  wits, 
till  at  length  its  former  admirers,  the  rabble  themselves, 
in  town  and  country,  vied  with  each  other  in  "  burning 
rumps"  of  beef,  which  were  hung  by  chains  on  a  gallows 
with  a  bonfire  underneath,  and  proved  how  the  people,  like 
children,  come  at  length  to  make  a  plaything  of  that  which 
was  once  their  bugbear. 

Ben  Jonson.  the  sturdy  old  dramatist,  was  nicknamed 
"  The  Limestone  and  Mortar  Poet,"  in  allusion  to  his  having 
begun  life  as  a  bricklayer.  A  member  of  the  British  Par- 
liament in  the  reign  of  George  III.  is  known  as  "Single- 
speech  Hamilton,"  and  is  referred  to  by  that  designation  as 
invariably  as  if  it  were  his  baptismal  name.  He  made  one, 
and  but  one,  good  speech  during  his  parliamentary  career. 
"  Boot-jack  Robinson "  was  the  derisive  title  given  to  a 
mediocre  politician,  who,  during  a  crisis  in  the  ministry  of 
the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  was  made  Home  Secretary  and 
ministerial  leader  of  the  House  of  "Commons.  "  Sir  Thomas 
Robinson  lead  us!"  indignantly  exclaimed  Pitt  to  Fox; 


276  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

"the  duke  might  as  well  send  his  boot-jack  to  lead  us!" 
It  is  said  that  Mr.  Dundas,  afterwards  Lord  Melville,  got 
his  nickname  from  a  new  word  which  he  introduced  in  a 
speech  in  the  House  of  Commons,  in  1775,  on  the  Ameri- 
can War.  He  was  the  first  to  use  the  word  "  starvation  " 
(a  hybrid  formation,  in  which  a  Saxon  root  was  united  with 
a  Latin  ending),  and  was  ever  afterwards  called  by  his 
acquaintances,  "  Starvation  Dundas."  "  Chicken  Taylor  " 
was  the  name  which,  in  the  early  part  of  the  century,  long 
stuck  to  Mr.  M.  A.  Taylor;  he  contended  against  a  great 
lawyer  in  the  House,  and  then  apologized  that  "he,  a 
chicken  in  the  law,  should  venture  on  a  fight  with  the 
cock  of  Westminster."  "  Adullamites,"  the  name  given 
by  Mr.  Bright  to  Mr.  Lowe  and  some  of  his  Liberal  friends, 
—  a  name  derived  from  the  Scripture  story  of  David  and 
his  followers  retiring  to  a  cave, —  will  probably  long  con- 
tinue to  be  applied  to  the  members  of  a  discontented 
faction. 

Everybody  has  heard  of  "Ditto  to  Mr.  Burke";  the 
victim  of  this  title  was  a  Mr.  Conger,  who  was  elected  with 
Burke  to  represent  the  city  of  Bristol.  Utterly  bewildered 
how  to  thank  the  electors,  after  his  associate's  splendid 
speech,  he  condensed  his  own  address  into  these  significant 
words:  "Gentlemen,  I  say  ditto  to  Mr.  Burke,  ditto  to  Mr. 
Burke!"  Among  the  other  memorable  English  nicknames, 
that  of  "  Jemmy  Twitcher,"  taken  from  the  chief  of  Mac- 
heath's  gang  in  "The  Beggar's  Opera,"  and  applied  to  Lord 
Sandwich, —  that  of  "  Orange  Peel,"  given  to  Sir  Robert  Peel 
by  the  Irish,  the  inveterate  foes  of  the  House  of  Orange, — 
"the  stormy  Petrel  of  debate,"  given  to  Mr.  Bernal 
Osborne, —  "Finality  Russell,"  fastened  upon  Lord  John 
Russell  because  he  wished  a  certain  Reform  measure  to 


NICKNAMES.  277 

be  final, —  and  the  unique  "Dizzy,"  into  which  his  enemies 
have  condensed  the  name  of  the  celebrated  Jewish  pre- 
mier,—  are  preeminently  significant  and  telling.  Among 
the  hundreds  of  American  political  nicknames,  there  are 
many  which  are  not  remarkably  expressive;  others,  like 
"Old  Bullion"  and  "Old  Hickory,"  are  steeped  in  "the 
very  brine  of  conceit,"  and  sum  up  a  character  as  if  by 
inspiration. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that  some  of  the  most  damaging 
nicknames  have  been  terms  or  epithets  which  were  origi- 
nally complimentary,  but  which,  used  sarcastically,  have 
been  associated  with  more  ridicule  or  odium  than  the  most 
opprobrious  epithets.  Men  hate  to  be  continually  reminded 
of  any  one  virtue  of  a  fellow- man, — to  hear  the  changes 
rung  continually  upon  some  one  great  action  or  daring  feat 
he  has  performed.  It  seems,  indeed,  as  if  a  man  whose 
name  is  continually  dinned  in  our  ears,  coupled  with  some 
complimentary  epithet,  some  allusion  to  a  praiseworthy 
deed  which  he  once  did,  or  some  excellent  trait  of  char- 
acter,—  must  be  distinguished  for  nothing  else.  Unless 
this  is  his  only  virtue,  why  all  this  fuss  and  pother  about 
it?  The  Athenians  banished  Aristides,  because  they  were 
tired  of  hearing  him  called  "the  Just." 

Some  parents  have  so  great  a  dread  of  nicknames  that 
they  tax  their  ingenuity  to  invent  for  their  children  a 
Christian  name  that  may  defy  nicking  or  abbreviation. 
With  Southey's  Doctor  Dove,  they  think  "  it  is  not  a  good 
thing  to  be  Tom'd  or  Bob'd,  Jack'd  or  Jim'd,  Sam'd  or 
Ben'd,  Natty'd  or  Batty'd,  Neddy'd  or  Teddy'd,  Will'd 
or  Bill'd,  Dick'd  or  Nick'd,  Joe'd  or  Jerry'd,  as  you  go 
through  the  world."  The  good  doctor,  however,  had  no 
such  antipathy  to  the  shortening  of  female  names.  "  He 


278  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

never  called  any  woman  Mary,  though  Mare,  he  said,  being 
the  sea,  was  in  many  respects  too  emblematic  of  the  sex. 
It  was  better  to  use  a  synonyme  of  better  omen,  and  Molly 
was  therefore  preferred  as  being  soft.  If  he  accosted  a 
vixen  of  that  name  in  her  worst  temper,  he  Mollyfied  her! 
On  the  contrary,  he  never  could  be  induced  to  substitute 
Sally  for  Sarah.  Sally,  he  said,  had  a  salacious  sound,  and, 
moreover,  it  reminded  him  of  rovers,  which  women  ought 
not  to  be.  Martha  he  called  Patty,  because  it  came  pat  to 
the  tongue.  Dorothy  remained  Dorothy,  because  it  was 
neither  fitting  that  women  should  be  made  Dolls,  nor 
I-dols!  Susan  with  him  was  always  Sue,  because  women 
were  to  be  Sue-d,  and  Winnifred,  Win-ny,  because  they 
were  to  be  won."* 

The  annoyance  which  may  be  given  to  a  man,  even  by 
an  apparently  meaningless  nickname,  which  sticks  to  him 
wherever  he  goes,  is  well  illustrated  by  a  story  told  by 
Hazlitt  in  his  "  Conversations  with  Northcote,"  the  painter. 
A  village  baker  got,  he  knew  not  how,  the  name  of  "  Tiddy- 
doll."  He  was  teased  and  worried  by  it  till  it  almost  drove 
him  crazy.  The  boys  hallooed  it  after  him  in  the  streets, 
and  poked  their  faces  into  his  shop- windows;  the  parrots 
echoed  the  name  as  he  passed  their  cages;  and  even  the 
soldiers  took  it  up  (for  the  place  was  a  military  station), 
and  marched  to  parade,  beating  time  with  their  feet  and 
singing  Tiddy-doll,  Tiddy-doll,  as  they  passed  by  his  door. 
He  flew  out  upon  them  at  the  sound  with  inextinguishable 
fury,  was  knocked  down  and  rolled  into  the  kennel,  and 
got  up  in  an  agony  of  rage,  his  white  clothes  drabbled  and 
bespattered  with  mud.  A  respectable  and  friendly  gentle- 
man in  the  neighborhood,  who  pitied  his  weakness,  called 

*  "  The  Doctor,"  Vol.  VII. 


NICKNAMES.  279 

him  into  his  house  one  day,  and  remonstrated  with  him  on 
the  subject.  He  advised  him  to  take  no  notice  of  his  per- 
secutors. "  What,"  said  he,  "does  it  signify?  Suppose  they 
do  call  you  Tiddy-doll?  What  harm?"  "  There —there 
it  is  again!'"  burst  forth  the  infuriated  baker;  "you've 
called  me  so  yourself.  You  called  me  in  on  purpose  to 
insult  me!"  And,  saying  this,  he  vented  his  rage  in  a 
torrent  of  abusive  epithets,  and  darted  out  of  the  house 
in  a  tempest  of  passion. 

The  readers  of  Boswell  will  remember,  in  connection 
with  this  subject,  an  amusing  anecdote  told  of  Dr.  Johnson. 
Being  rudely  jostled  and  profanely  addressed  by  a  stout 
fish-woman,  as  he  was  passing  through  Billingsgate,  he 
looked  straight  at  her,  and  said  deliberately,  "  You  are  a 
triangle!"  which  made  her  swear  louder  than  before.  He 
then  called  her  "a  rectangle!  a  parallelogram!"  but  she 
was  more  voluble  still.  At  last  he  screamed  out,  "  You  are 
a  miserable,  wicked  hypothenuse ! "  and  she  was  struck 
dumb.  Curran  had  a  similar  ludicrous  encounter  with  a 
fish-woman  at  Cork.  Taking  up  the  gauntlet,  when  as- 
sailed by  her  on  the  quay,  he  speedily  found  that  he  was 
overmatched,  and  that  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  beat  a 
retreat.  "This,  however,  was  to  be  done  with  dignity;  so, 
drawing  myself  up  disdainfully,  I  said  '  Madam,  I  scorn  all 
further  discourse  with  such  an  individual!'  She  did  not 
understand  the  word,  and  thought  it,  no  doubt,  the  very 
hyperbole  of  opprobrium.  '  Individual,  you  wagabone ! ' 
she  screamed,  'what  do  you  mean  by  that?  I'm  no  more  an 
individual  than  your  mother  was!'  Never  was  victory 
more  complete.  The  whole  sisterhood  did  homage  to  me, 
and  I  left  the  quay  of  Cork  covered  with  glory." 


280  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

CURIOSITIES   OF  LANGUAGE. 

Language  is  the  depository  of  the  accumulated  body  of  experience,  to 
which  all  former  ages  have  contributed  their  part,  and  which  is  the  inherit- 
ance of  all  yet  to  come.— J.  S.  MILL. 

Often  in  words  contemplated  singly  there  are  boundless  stores  of  moral 
and  historic  truth,  and  no  less  of  passion  and  imagination,  laid  up.— TRENCH. 

A  THOUGHTFUL  English  writer  tells  us  that,  when 
-L^~  about  nine  years  old,  he  learned  with  much  surprise 
that  the  word  "  sincere "  was  derived  from  the  practice  of 
filling  up  flaws  in  furniture  with  wax,  whence  sine  cera 
came  to  mean  pure,  not  vamped  up  or  adulterated.  This 
explanation  gave  him  great  pleasure,  and  abode  in  his 
memory  as  having  first  shown  him  that  there  is  a  reason  in 
words  as  well  as  things.  There  are  few  cultivated  persons 
who  have  not  felt,  at  some  time  in  their  lives,  a  thrill  of 
surprise  and  delight  like  that  of  this  writer.  Through- 
out our  whole  lives,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  the 
stream  of  our  history,  inner  and  outer,  runs  wonderfully 
blended  with  the  texture  of  the  words  we  use.  Dive  into 
what  subject  we  will,  we  never  touch  the  bottom.  The 
simplest  prattle  of  a  child  is  but  the  light  surface  of  a  deep 
sea  containing  many  treasures.  It  would  be  hard,  there- 
fore, to  find  in  the  whole  range  of  inquiry  another  study 
which  at  once  is  so  fascinating,  and  so  richly  repays  the 
labor,  as  that  of  the  etymology  or  primitive  significations 
of  words. 

It  is  an  epoch  in  one's  intellectual  history  when  he  first 
learns  that  words  are  living  and  not  dead  things, —  that  in 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  281 

these  children  of  the  mind  are  incarnated  the  wit  and  wis- 
dom, the  poetic  fancies  and  the  deep  intuitions,  the  pas- 
sionate longings  and  the  happy  or  sad  experiences  of  many 
generations.  The  discovery  is  "  like  the  dropping  of  scales 
from  his  eyes,  like  the  acquiring  of  another  sense,  or  the 
introduction  into  a  new  world  " ;  he  never  ceases  wondering 
at  the  moral  marvels  that  everywhere  reveal  themselves 
to  his  gaze.  To  eyes  thus  opened,  dictionaries,  instead  of 
seeming  huge  masses  of  word-lumber,  become  vast  store- 
houses of  historical  memorials,  than  which  none  are  more 
vital  in  spirit  or  more  pregnant  with  meaning.  It  is  not 
in  oriental  fairy-tales  only  that  persons  drop  pearls  every 
time  they  open  their  mouths, —  like  Moliere's  Bourgeois 
Gentilhomme,  who  had  been  speaking  prose  all  his  life 
without  knowing  it,  we  are  dropping  gems  from  our  lips  in 
almost  every  hour  of  the  day.  Not  a  thought  or  feeling  or 
wish  can  we  utter  without  recalling,  by  an  unconscious 
sign  or  symbol,  some  historic  fact,  some  memory  of  "  auld 
lang  syne,"  some  bygone  custom,  some  vanished  supersti- 
tion, some  exploded  prejudice,  or  some  ethical  divination 
that  has  lost  its  charm.  Even  the  homeliest  and  most 
familiar  words,  the  most  hackneyed  phrases,  are  connected 
by  imperceptible  ties  with  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  reason- 
ings and  reflections,  of  bygone  men  and  times. 

Every  generation  of  men  inherits  and  uses  all  the  scien- 
tific wealth  of  the  past.  "  It  is  not  merely  the  great  and 
rich  in  the  intellectual  world  who  are  thus  blessed,  but 
the  humblest  inquirer,  while  he  puts  his  reasonings  into 
words,  benefits  by  the  labors  of  the  greatest.  When  he 
counts  his  little  wealth,  he  finds  he  has  in  his  hands  coins 
which  bear  the  image  and  superscription  of  ancient  and 
modern  intellectual  dynasties,  and  that  in  virtue  of  this 


282  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

possession  acquisitions  are  in  his  power,  solid  knowledge 
within  his  reach,  which  none  could  ever  have  attained  to, 
if  it  were  not  that  the  gold  of  truth  once  dug  out  of  the 
mine  circulates  more  and  more  widely  among  mankind." 
Emerson  beautifully  calls  language  "fossil  poetry."  The 
etymologist,  he  adds,  finds  the  deadest  word  to  have  been 
once  a  brilliant  picture.  "As  the  limestone  of  the  conti- 
nent consists  of  infinite  masses  of  the  shells  of  animalcules, 
so  language  is  made  up  of  images  or  tropes,  which  now,  in 
their  secondary  use,  have  long  since  ceased  to  remind  us  of 
their  poetic  origin." 

Not  only  is  this  true,  but  many  a  single  word,  as"  Arch- 
bishop Trench  remarks,  is  itself  a  concentrated  poem,  in 
which  are  treasured  stores  of  poetical  thought  and  imagery. 
Examine  it  closely,  and  it  will  be  found  to  rest  upon  some 
palpable  or  subtle  analogy  of  things  material  and  spiritual, 
showing  that,  however  trite  the  image  now,  the  man  who 
first  coined  the  word  was  a  poet.  The  older  the  Word,  the 
profounder  and  more  beautiful  the  meanings  it  will  often 
be  found  to  enclose;  for  words  of  late  growth  speak  to  the 
head,  not  to  the  heart;  thoughts  and  feelings  are  too  subtle 
for  new  words.  It  is  the  use  of  words  when  new  and 
fresh  from  the  lips  of  their  inventors,  before  their  vivid 
and  picturesque  meanings  have  faded  out  or  been  obscured 
by  their  many  secondary  significations,  that  gives  such 
pictorial  beauty,  pith,  and  raciness,  to  the  early  writers; 
"  and  hence  to  recall  language,  to  restore  its  early  mean- 
ings, to  re-mint  it  in  novel  forms,  is  the  secret  of  all  effect- 
ive writing  and  speaking, —  of  all  verbal  expression  which 
is  to  leave,  as  was  said  of  the  eloquence  of  Pericles,  stings 
in  the  minds  and  memories  of  the  hearers." 

Language  is  not  only  "  fossil  poetry,"  but  it  is  also  fossil 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  283 

philosophy,  fossil  ethics,  and  fossil  history.  As  in  the  pre- 
Adamite  rock  are  bound  up  and  preserved  the  vegetable 
and  animal  forms  of  ages  long  gone  by,  so  in  words  are 
locked  up  truths  once  known  but  now  forgotten, —  the 
thoughts  and  feelings,  the  habits,  customs,  opinions,  virtues 
and  vices  of  men  long  since  in  their  graves.  Compared 
with  these  memorials  of  the  past,  these  records  of  ancient 
and  modern  intellectual  dynasties,  how  poor  are  all  other 
monuments  of  human  power,  perseverance,  skill,  or  genius! 
Unlike  the  works  of  individual  genius,  or  the  cuneiform 
inscriptions  which  are  found  in  oriental  countries  on  the 
crumbling  fragments  of  half-calcined  stone,  language  gives 
us  the  history  not  only  of  individuals,  but  of  nations;  not 
only  of  nations,  but  of  mankind.  It  is,  indeed,  "an  admi- 
rable poem  on  the  history  of  all  ages;  a  living  monument 
on  which  is  written  the  genesis  of  human  thought.  Thus 
'the  ground  on  which  our  civilization  stands  is  a  sacred 
one,  for  it  is  the  deposit  of  thought.  For  language,  as  it 
is  the  mirror,  so  it  is  the  product  of  reason,  and,  as  it 
embodies  thought,  so  it  is  the  child  of  thought.  In  it  are 
embodied  the  sparks  of  that  celestial  fire  which,  from  a 
once  bright  centre  of  civilization,  has '  streamed  forth  over 
the  inhabited  earth,  and  which  now  already,  after  less  than 
three  myriads  of  years,  forms  a  galaxy  round  the  globe,  a 
chain  of  light  from  pole  to  pole.' "  * 

How  pregnant  with  instruction  is  often  the  history  of  a 
single  -word!  Coleridge,  who  keenly  appreciated  the  sig- 
nificance of  words,  says  that  there  are  cases  where  more 
knowledge  of  more  value  may  be  conveyed  by  the  history 
of  a  word  than  by  the  history  of  a  campaign.  Sometimes 
the  germ  of  a  nation's  life, —  the  philosophy  of  some  polit- 

*  "  The  Origin  of  Language,"  by  F.  W.  Farrar. 


284  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ical,  moral,  or  intellectual  movement  in  a  country, —  will 
be  found  coiled  up  in  a  single  word,  just  as  the  oak  is 
found  in  an  acorn.  The  fact  that  the  Arabs  were  the 
arithmeticians,  the  astronomers,  the  chemists,  and  the  mer- 
chants of  the  Middle  Ages,  is  shown  by  the  words  we  have 
borrowed  from  them, —  algebra,  almanac,  cypher,  zero, 
zenith,  alkali,  alcohol,  alchemy,  alembic,  magazine,  tariff, 
cotton,  elixir;  and  so  that  the  monastic  system  originated 
in  the  Greek,  and  not  in  the  Latin  church,  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  the  words  expressing  the  chief  elements  of  the 
system,  as  monk,  monastery,  anchorite,  cenobite,  ascetic, 
hermit,  are  Greek,  not  Latin.  What  an  amount  of  history 
is  wrapped  up  in  the  word  Pagan!  The  term,  we  learn 
from  Gibbon,  is  remotely  derived  from  ndyy,  in  the  Doric 
dialect,  signifying  a  fountain;  and  the  rural  neighborhood 
which  frequented  the  same  derived  the  common  appellation 
of  Pagus  and  Pagans.  Soon  Pagan  and  rural  became 
nearly  synonymous,  and  the  meaner  peasants  acquired  that 
name  which  has  been  corrupted  into  peasant  in  the  modern 
languages  of  Europe.  All  non-military  people  soon  came 
to  be  branded  as  Pagans.  The  Christians  were  the  soldiers 
of  Christ;  their  adversaries,  who  refused  the  sacrament,  or 
military  oath  of  baptism,  might  deserve  the  metaphorical 
name  of  Pagans.  Christianity  gradually  filled  the  cities  of 
the  empire;  the  old  religion  retired  and  languished,  in  the 
time  of  Prudentius,  in  obscure  villages.  From  Pagus,  as  a 
root,  comes  pagius,  first  a  villager,  then  a  rural  laborer, 
then  a  servant,  lastly  a  page.  Pagina,  first  the  enclosed 
square  of  cultivated  land  near  a  village,  graduated  into 
the  page  of  a  book.  Pagare,  from  denoting  the  field-service 
that  compensated  the  provider  of  food  and  raiment,  was 
applied  eventually  to  every  form  in  which  the  changes  of 


CURIOSITIES    OF   LANGUAGE.  285 

society  required  the    benefited  to  pay  for  what   they  re- 
ceived. 

Often  where  history  is  utterly  dumb  concerning  the  past, 
language  speaks.  The  discovery  of  the  foot-print  on  the 
sand  did  not  more  certainly  prove  to  Robinson  Crusoe  that 
the  island  of  which  he  had  fancied  himself  the  sole  inhab- 
itant contained  a  brother  man,  than  the  similarity  of  the 
inflections  in  the  speech  of  different  peoples  proves  their 
brotherhood.  Were  all  the  histories  of  England  swept 
from  existence,  the  study  of  its  language, —  developing  the 
fact  that  the  basis  of  the  language  is  Saxon,  that  the  names 
of  the  prominent  objects  of  nature  are  Celtic,  the  terms 
of  war  and  government  Norman- French,  the  ecclesiastical 
terms  Latin, —  would  enable  us  to  reconstruct  a  large  part 
of  the  story  of  the  past,  as  it  even  now  enables  us  to  verify 
many  of  the  statements  of  the  chroniclers.  Humboldt,  in 
his  "  Cosmos,"  eulogizes  the  study  of  words  as  one  of  the 
richest  sources  of  historical  knowledge;  and  it  is  probable 
that  what  comparative  philology,  yet  in  its  infancy,  has 
already  discovered,  will  compel  a  rewriting  of  the  history 
of  the  world.  Even  now  it  has  thrown  light  on  many  of 
the  most  perplexing  problems  of  religion,  history,  and  eth- 
nography; and  it  seems  destined  to  triumphs  of  which  we 
can  but  dimly  apprehend  the  consequences.  On  the  stone 
tablets  of  the  universe  God's  own  finger  has  written  the 
changes  which  millions  of  years  have  wrought  on  the 
mountain  and  the  plain;  and  in  the  fluid  air,  which  he 
coins  into  spoken  words,  man  has  preserved  forever  the 
grand  facts  of  his  past  history  and  the  grand  processes  of 
his  inmost  soul.  "  Nations  and  languages  against  dynasties 
and  treaties,"  is  the  cry  which  is  remodelling  the  map  of 
Europe;  and  in  our  country,  comparative  philologists, —  to 


286  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

their  shame  be  it  said, —  have  labored  with  Satanic  zeal  to 
prove  the  impossibility  of  a  common  origin  of  languages 
and  races,  in  order  to  justify,  by  scientific  arguments,  the 
theory  of  slavery.  It  has  been  said  that  the  interpretation 
of  one  word  in  the  Vedas  fifty  years  earlier  would  have 
saved  many  Hindoo  widows  from  being  burned  alive;  and 
the  philologists  of  England  and  Germany  yet  expect  to 
prove  to  the  Brahmins  that  caste  is  not  a  religious  institu- 
tion, and  has  no  authority  in  their  sacred  writings, —  the 
effect  of  which  will  be  to  enable  the  British  government  to 
inflict  penalties  for  the  observance  of  the  rules  of  w.s//-, 
without  violating  its  promise  to  respect  the  religion  of  the 
natives,  and  thus  to  relieve  India  from  the  greatest  incubus 
and  clog  on  its  progress. 

CHANGES  IN  THE  MEANING   OF   WORDS. 

Language,  as  it  daguerreotypes  human  thought,  shares, 
as  we  have  seen,  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  man.  It  mir- 
rors all  the  changes  in  the  character,  tastes,  customs,  and 
opinions  of  a  people,  and  shows  with  unerring  faithful- 
ness whether  and  in  what  degree  they  advance  or  recede 
in  culture  or  morality.  As  new  ideas  germinate  in  the 
mind  of  a  nation,  it  will  demand  new  forms  of  expression; 
on  the  other  hand,  a  petrified  and  mechanical  national 
mind  will  as  surely  betray  itself  in  a  petrified  and  me- 
chanical language.  It  is  by  no  accident  or  caprice  that 

" words,  whilom  flourishing, 


Pass  now  no  more,  but  banished  from  the  court, 
Dwell  with  disgrace  among  the  vulgar  sort; 
And  those,  which  eld's  strict  doom  did  disallow 
And  damn  for  bullion,  go  for  current  now." 

Often  with   the   lapse   of   time   the   meaning   of   a   word 
changes   imperceptibly,  until  after  some  centuries  it  be- 


CURIOSITIES   OF    LANGUAGE.  287 

comes  the  very  opposite  of  what  it  once  was.  To  disinter 
these  old  meanings  out  of  the  alluvium  and  drift  of  ages, 
affords  as  much  pleasure  to  the  linguist  as  to  disinter  a 
fossil  does  to  the  geologist. 

An  exact  knowledge  of  the  changes  of  signification 
which  words  have  undergone  is  not  merely  a  source  of 
pleasure;  it  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  the  full  under- 
standing of  old  authors.  Thus,  for  example,  Milton  and 
Thomson  use  "  horrent "  and  "  horrid  "  for  bristling,  e.  g., 

"With  dangling  ice  all  fiwrid." 

Milton  speaks  of  a  "  savage  "  (meaning  woody,  silra)  hill, 
and  of  "  amiable  "  (meaning  lovely)  fruit.  Again,  in  the 
well-known  lines  of  the  "Allegro,"  where,  Milton  says, 
amongst  the  cheerful  sights  of  rural  morn, 

"And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  vale," — 

the  words  "  telling  his  tale "  do  not  mean  that  he  is  ro- 
mancing or  making  love  to  the  milkmaid,  but  that  he  is 
counting  his  sheep  as  they  pass  the  hawthorn, —  a  natural 
and  familiar  occupation  of  shepherds  on  a  summer's  morn- 
ing. The  primary  meaning  of  "  tale "  is  to  count  or 
number,  as  in  the  German  "  zahlen."  It  is  thus  used  in 
the  Book  of  Exodus,  which  states  that  the  Israelites  were 
compelled  to  deliver  their  tale  of  bricks.  In  the  English 
tale  and  in  the  French  conte  the  secondary  meaning  has 
supplanted  the  first,  though  we  still  speak  of  "keeping 
tally,"  of  "  untold  gold,"  and  say,  "  Here  is  the  sum  twice- 
told." 

It  has  been  said  that  one  of  the  arts  of  a  great  poet 
or  prose-writer,  who  wishes  to  add  emphasis  to  his  style, 
— to  bring  out  all  the  latent  forces  of  his  native  tongue, — 
will  often  consist  in  reconnecting  a  word  with  its  original 


288  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

derivation,  in  not  suffering  it  to  forget  itself  and  its  fa- 
ther's house,  though  it  would.  This  Milton  does  with 
signal  effect,  and  so  frequently  that  we  must  often  inter- 
pret his  words  rather  by  their  classical  meanings  than  by 
their  English  use.  Thus  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  when  Satan 
speaks  of  his  having  been  pursued  by  "  Heaven's  afflidhn/ 
thunder,"  the  poet  uses  the  word  "  afflicting  "  in  its  origi- 
nal primary  sense  of  striking  down  bodily.  Properly  the 
word  denotes  a  state  of  mind  or  feeling  only,  and  is  not 
used  to-day  in  a  concrete  sense.  So  when  Milton,  at  the 
opening  of  the  same  poem,  speaks  of 

"  the  secret  top 
Of  Oreb  or  of  Sinai," 

the  meaning  of  the  word  "secret"  is  not  that  of  the  Eng- 
lish adjective,  but  is  remote,  apart,  lonely,  as  in  Virgil's 
"  secretosque  pios."  The  absurdity  of  supposing  the  word 
to  be  the  same  as  our  ordinary  adjective  led  Bentley, 
among  many  ridiculous  "  improvements  "  of  Milton's  lan- 
guage, to  change  it  to  "  sacred." 

Shakspeare,  also,  not  unfrequently  uses  words  in  their 
classical  sense.     Thus  when  Cleopatra  speaks  of 

"  Such  gifts  as  we  greet  modern  friends  withal," 

"  modern "  is  used  in  the  sense  of  modal,  (from  modus,  a 
fashion  or  manner;)  a  modern  friend,  compared  with  a 
true  friend,  being  what  the  fashion  of  a  thing  is,  com- 
pared with  the  substance.  So, —  as  De  Quincey,  to  whom 
we  owe  this  explanation,  has  shown, —  when  in  the  famous 
picture  of  life,  "  All  the  World's  a  Stage,"  the  justice 
is  described  as 

"  Full  of  wise  saws  and  modern  instances," 

the  meaning  is  not,  "  full  of  wise  sayings  and  modern 
illustrations,"  but  full  of  proverbial  maxims  of  conduct 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  289 

and  of  trivial  arguments;  i.  e.,  of  petty  distinctions  that 
never  touch  the  point  at  issue.  Instances  is  from  instantia, 
which  the  monkish  and  scholastic  writers  always  used  in 
the  sense  of  an  argument. 

Mystery  is  derived  from  "  mu,"  the  imitation  of  closing 
the  lips.  Courage  is  "good  heart."  Anecdote, —  from  the 
Greek  dv  (not),  lx  (out),  and  86ra  (given), —  meant  once 
a  fact  not  given  out  or  published;  now  it  means  a  short, 
amusing  story.  Procopius,  a  Greek  historian  in  the  reign 
of  Justinian,  is  said  to  have  coined  the  word.  Not  daring, 
for  fear  of  torture  and  death,  to  speak  of  some  living  per- 
sons as  they  deserved,  he  wrote  a  work  which  he  called 
"Anecdotes,"  or  a  "Secret  History."  The  instant  an  an- 
ecdote is  published,  it  belies  its  title;  it  is  no  longer  an 
anecdote.  Allowance  formerly  was  used  to  denote  praise 
or  approval;  as  when  Shakspeare  says,  in  "  Troilus  and 
Cressida," 

"  A  stirring  dwarf  we  do  allowance  give 
Before  a  sleeping  giant." 

To  prevent,  which  now  means  to  hinder  or  obstruct,  signi- 
fied, in  its  Latin  etymology,  to  anticipate,  to  get  the  start 
of,  and  is  thus  used  in  the  Old  Testament.  Girl  once 
designated  a  young  person  of  either  sex.  Widow  was 
applied  to  men  as  well  as  women.  Astonished  literally 
means  thunderstruck,  as  its  derivation  from  "attonare" 
shows.  Holland,  in  his  translation  of  Livy,  speaks  of  a 
knave  who  threw  some  heavy  stones  upon  a  certain  king, 
"  whereof  the  one  smote  the  king  upon  his  head,  the  other 
astonished  his  shoulder."  Sagacious  once  meant  quick- 
smelling,  as  in  the  line 

"The  hound  sagacious  of  the  tainted  prey." 
13 


290  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Rascal,  according  to  Verstegan,  primarily  meant  an  "  il- 
favoured,  lean,  and  worthelesse  deer."     Thus  Shakspeare: 

"Horns!  the  noblest  deer  hath  them  as  huge  as  the  rascal." 


Afterwards  it  denoted  the  common  people,  the  plcbs  as 
distinguished  from  the  populus.  A  naturalist  was  once  a 
person  who  rejected  revealed  truth,  and  believed  only  in 
natural  religion.  He  is  now  an  investigator  of  nature  and 
her  laws,  and  often  a  believer  in  Christianity.  Blackgt«ir</* 
were  formerly  the  scullions,  turnspits,  and  other  meaner 
retainers  in  a  great  household,  who,  when  a  change  was 
made  from  one  residence  to  another,  accompanied  and  took 
care  of  the  pots,  pans,  and  other  kitchen  utensils,  by  which 
they  were  smutted.  Webster,  in  his  play  of  "  The  White 
Devil,"  speaks  of  "  a  lousy  knave,  that  within  these  twenty 
years  rode  with  the  black  guard  in  the  Duke's  carriage, 
amongst  spits  and  dripping-pans."  Artillery,  which  to-day 
means  the  heavy  ordnance  of  modern  warfare,  was  two  or 
three  centuries  ago  applied  to  any  engines  for  throwing 
missiles,  even  to  the  bow  and  arrow.  Punctual,  which  now 
denotes  exactness  in  keeping  engagements,  formerly  applied 
to  space  as  well  as  to  time.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  speaks  of 
"  a  punctual  truth  "  ;  and  we  read  in  other  writers  of  "  a 
punctual  relation"  or  "description,"  meaning  a  particular 
or  circumstantial  relation  or  description. 

Bombast,  now  swelling  talk,  inflated  diction  without 
substance,  was  originally  cotton  padding.  It  is  derived 
from  the  Low  Latin,  bombax,  cotton.  Chemist  once  meant 
the  same  as  alchemist.  Polite  originally  meant  polished. 
Cudworth  speaks  of  "  polite  bodies,  as  looking-glasses." 
Tidy,  which  now  means  neat,  well-arranged,  is  derived 
from  the  old  English  word  "tide,"  meaning  time,  as  in 


CURIOSITIES    OF    LANGUAGE.  291 

eventide.  Tidy  (German,  zeitig,}  is  timely,  seasonable.  As 
things  in  right  time  are  apt  to  be  in  the  right  place,  the 
transition  in  the  meaning  of  the  word  is  a  natural  one. 
Caitiff  formerly  meant  captive,  being  derived  from  captivus 
through  the  Norman-French.  The  change  of  signification 
points  to  the  tendency  of  slavery  utterly  to  debase  the 
character, —  to  transform  the  man  into  a  cowardly  mis- 
creant. In  like  manner  miscreant,  once  simply  a  mis- 
believer, and  applied  to  the  most  virtuous  as  well  as  to 
the  vilest,  points  to  the  deep-felt  conviction  that  a  wrong 
belief  leads  to  wrong  living.  Thus  Gibbon:  "The  emper- 
or's generosity  to  the  miscreant  (Soliman)  was  interpreted 
as  treason  to  the  Christian  cause."  Thought,  in  early 
English,  was  anxious  care;  e.g.,  "Take  no  thought  for  your 
life"  (Matt.  vi.  25).  Thing  primarily  meant  discourse, 
then  solemn  discussion,  council,  court  of  justice,  cause, 
matter  or  subject  of  discourse.  The  husting  was  originally 
the  house- thing,  or  domestic  court. 

Coquets  were  once  male  as  well  as  female.  Usury,  which 
now  means  taking  illegal  or  excessive  interest,  denoted,  at 
first,  the  taking  of  any  interest,  however  small.  A  tobacco- 
nist was  formerly  a  smoker,  not  a  seller,  of  tobacco.  Corpse, 
now  a  body  from  which  the  breath  of  life  has  departed, 
once  denoted  the  body  of  the  living  also;  as  in  Surrey, 

"A  valiant  corpse,  where  force  and  beauty  met." 

Incomprehensible  has  undergone  a  striking  change  of 
meaning  within  the  last  three  centuries.  In  the  Athana- 
sian  creed  the  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost  are  spoken  of 
as  immense.  In  translating  the  creed  from  the  Latin,  in 
which  it  was  first  penned,  the  word  immensus  was  rendered 
"  incomprehensible,"  a  word  which,  at  that  time,  was  not 


292  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

limited  to  its  present  sense,  that  is,  inconceivable,  or  be- 
yond, or  above  our  understanding,  but  meant  "not  com- 
prehended within  any  limits,"  and  answered  to  the  orig- 
inal expression  and  notion  of  immensity. 

Wit,  now  used  in  a  more  limited  sense,  at  first  signified 
the  mental  powers  collectively;  e.  g.,  "  Will  puts  in  practice 
what  the  wit  deviseth."  Later  it  came  to  denote  quickness 
of  apprehension,  beauty  or  elegance  in  composition,  and 
Pope  defined  it  as 


•  nature  to  advantage  dressed, 


What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  expressed." 

Another  meaning  was  a  man  of  talents  or  genius.  The 
word  parts,  a  hundred  years  ago,  was  used  to  denote  genius 
or  talents.  Horace  Walpole,  in  one  of  his  letters,  says  of 
Goldsmith  that  "  he  was  an  idiot,  with  once  or  twice  a  fit  of 
parts."  The  word  loyalty  has  undergone  a  marked  change 
within  a  few  centuries.  Originally  it  meant  in  English,  as 
in  French,  fair  dealing,  fidelity  to  engagements;  now  it 
means,  in  England,  fidelity  to  the  throne,  and,  in  the 
United  States,  to  the  Union  or  the  Constitution.  Reler<m1. 
which  formerly  meant  relieving  or  assisting,  is  now  used  in 
the  sense  of  relative  or  relating  to,  with  which,  from  a 
similarity  of  sound,  though  without  the  least  etymological 
connection,  it  appears  to  have  been  confounded.  The  word 
exorbitant  once  meant  deviating  from  a  track  or  orbit; 
it  is  now  used  exclusively  in  the  sense  of  excessive. 

The  word  coincide  was  primarily  a  mathematical  term. 
If  one  mathematical  point  be  superposed  upon  another,  or 
one  straight  line  upon  another  between  the  same  two 
points,  the  two  points  in  the  first  case  and  the  two  lines 
in  the  latter,  are  said  to  coincide.  The  word  was  soon 
applied  figuratively  to  identity  of  opinion,  but,  according 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  293 

to  Prof.  Marsh,  was  not  fully  popularized,  at  least  in 
America,  till  1826.  On  the  Fourth  of  July  in  that  year, 
the  semi-centennial  jubilee  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence, Thomas  Jefferson,  the  author  of  that  manifesto,  and 
John  Adams,  its  principal  champion  on  the  floor  of  Con- 
gress, both  also  Ex-Presidents,  died;  and  this  fact  was 
noticed  all  over  the  world,  and  especially  in  the  United 
States,  as  a  remarkable  coincidence.  The  death  of  Ex- 
President  Monroe,  also,  on  the  Fourth  of  July  five  years 
after,  gave  increased  currency  to  the  word.  Our  late 
Civil  War  has  led  to  some  striking  mutations  in  the  mean- 
ing of  words.  Contraband,  from  its  general  signification 
of  any  article  whose  importation  or  exportation  is  pro- 
hibited by  law,  became  limited  to  a  fugitive  slave  within 
the  United  States'  military  lines.  Secede  and  secession, 
confederate  and  confederacy,  have  also  acquired  a  new 
special  meaning. 

DEGRADATION   OF   WORDS. 

Another  striking  characteristic  of  words  is  their  tend- 
ency to  contract  in  form  and  degenerate  in  meaning. 
Sometimes  they  are  ennobled  and  purified  in  signification; 
but  more  frequently  they  deteriorate,  and  from  an  honor- 
able fall  into  a  dishonorable  meaning.  We  will  first  note 
a  few  examples  of  the  former ;  —  Humility,  with  the  Greeks 
and  Romans,  meant  meanness  of  spirit;  Paradise,  in  ori- 
ental tongues,  meant  only  a  royal  park;  regeneration  was 
spoken  by  the  Greeks  only  of  the  earth  in  the  springtime, 
and  of  the  recollection  of  forgotten  knowledge;  sacrament 
and  mystery  are  words  "fetched  from  the  very  dregs  of 
paganism  "  to  set  forth  the  great  truths  of  our  redemption. 
On  the  other  hand,  thief  (Anglo-Saxon,  theow,}  formerly 


294  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

signified  only  one  of  the  servile  classes;  and  villain,  or 
villein,  meant  peasant, —  the  serf,  who,  under  the  feudal 
system,  was  adscriptus  ylebae.  The  scorn  of  the  landhold- 
ers, the  half-barbarous  aristocracy,  for  these  persons,  led 
them  to  ascribe  to  them  the  most  hateful  qualities,  some  of 
which  their  degrading  situation  doubtless  tended  to  foster. 
Thus  the  word  villein  became  gradually  associated  with 
ideas  of  crime  and  guilt,  till  at  length  it  became  a  syno- 
nyme  for  knaves  of  every  class  in  society.  A  menial  was 
one  of  the  many;  insolent  meant  unusual;  silly,  blessed, — 
the  infant  Jesus  being  termed  by  an  old  English  poet  "  that 
harmless  silly  babe  " ;  officious  signified  ready  to  do  kindly 
offices.  Demure  was  used  once  in  a  good  sense,  without  the 
insinuation  which  is  now  almost  latent  in  it,  that  the 
external  shows  of  modesty  and  sobriety  rest  on  no  corre- 
sponding realities.  Facetious,  which  now  has  the  sense  of 
buffoonish,  originally  meant  urbane.  Idiot,  from  the  Greek, 
originally  signified  only  a  private  man,  as  distinguished 
from  an  office-holder.  Homely  formerly  meant  secret  and 
familiar;  and  brat,  now  a  vulgar  and  contemptuous  word, 
had  anciently  a  very  different  signification,  as  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines  from  an  old  hymn  by  Gascoigne: 

"  O  Israel,  O  household  of  the  Lord, 
O  Abraham's  brats,  O  brood  of  blessed  seed, 
O  chosen  sheep  that  loved  the  Lord  indeed." 

Imp  once  meant  graft;  Bacon  speaks  of  "those  most 
virtuous  and  goodly  young  imps,  the  Duke  of  Sussex  and 
his  brother."  A  boor  was  once  only  a  farmer;  a  scamp,  a 
camp-deserter.  Speculation  first  meant  the  sense  of  sight; 
as  in  Shakspeare, 

"Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes." 

Next  it  was  metaphorically  transferred  to  mental  vision, 


CURIOSITIES   OF    LANGUAGE.  295 

and  finally  denoted,  without  a  metaphor,  the  reflections 
and  theories  of  philosophers.  From  the  domain  of  phi- 
losophy it  has  finally  traveled  downwards  to  the  offices  of 
stock-jobbers,  share-brokers,  and  all  men  who  get  their 
living  by  their  wits,  instead  of  by  the  sweat  of  their  brows. 
So  craft  at  first  meant  ability,  skill,  or  dexterity.  The 
origin  of  the  term,  according  to  Wedgwood,  is  seen  in  the 
notion  of  seizing,  expressed  by  the  Italian,  graffi&re,  Welsh, 
craft,  a  hook,  brace,  holdfast.  The  term  is  then  applied  to 
seizing  with  the  mind,  as  in  the  Latin  terms  apprehend, 
comprehend,  from  preliendere,  to  seize  in  a  material  way. 
Cunning  once  conveyed  no  idea  of  sinister  or  crooked 
wisdom.  "The  three  Persons  of  the  Trinity,"  says  a  rev- 
erent writer  of  the  fifteenth  century,  "are  of  equal  cun- 
ning." Bacon,  a  century  later,  uses  the  word  in  its  present 
sense  of  fox-like  wisdom;  and  Locke  calls  it  "the  ape  of 
wisdom."  Vagabond  is  a  word  whose  etymology  conveys 
no  reproach.  It  denoted  at  first  only  a  wanderer.  But 
as  men  who  have  no  homes  are  apt  to  become  loose,  un- 
steady, and  reckless  in  their  habits,  the  term  has  degen- 
erated into  its  present  signification. 

Paramour  meant  originally  only  lover;  a,  minion  was  a 
favorite ;  and  knave,  the  lowest  and  most  contemptuous  term 
we  can  use  when  insulting  another,  signified  originally,  as 
knabe  still  does  in  German,  a  "boy."  Subsequently,  it 
meant  servant;  thus  Paul,  in  WicliflVs  version  of  the  New 
Testament,  reverently  terms  himself  "a  knave  of  Jesus 
Christ."  A  similar  parallel  to  this  is  the  word  varlet, 
which  is  the  same  as  valet.  Retaliate,  from  the  Latin  "re" 
(back)  and  "  talis "  (such),  naturally  means  to  pay  back  in 
kind,  or  such  as  we  have  received.  But  as,  according  to 
Sir  Thomas  More,  men  write  their  injuries  in  marble,  the 


296  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

kindnesses  done  them  in  sand,  the  word  "retaliate"  is 
applied  only  to  offenses  or  indignities,  and  never  to  favors. 
The  word  resent,  to  feel  in  return,  has  undergone  a  similar 
deterioration.  A  Frenchman  would  say,  "  II  ressentit  une 
vive  douleur,"  for  "  He  felt  acute  pain1';  whereas  we  use 
the  word  only  to  express  the  sentiment  of  anger. 

So  animosity,  which  etymologically  means  only  spirit- 
edness,  is  now  applied  to  only  one  kind  of  vigor  and  activ- 
ity, that  displayed  in  enmity  and  hate.  Defalcation,  from 
the  Latin,  falx,  a  sickle  or  scythe,  is  properly  a  cutting 
off  or  down,  a  pruning  or  retrenchment.  Thus  Addison: 
"  The  tea-table  is  set  forth  with  its  usual  bill  of  fare, 
and  without  any  defalcation."  To-day  we  read  of  a  "  defalr 
cation  in  th.e  revenue,"  or  "  in  a  treasurer's  accounts,"  by 
which  is  meant  a  decrease  in  the  amount  of  the  revenue, 
or  in  the  moneys  accounted  for,  irrespective  of  the  cause, — 
a  falling  off.  This  erroneous  use  of  the  word  is  probably 
due  to  a  confusion  of  it  with  the  expression  fall  away,  and 
with  the  noun  defaulter.  Between  the  first  word  and 
either  of  the  last  two,  however,  there  is  not  the  slightest 
etymological  relationship.  Chaffer,  to  talk  much  and  idly, 
primarily  meant  to  buy,  to  make  a  bargain,  to  higgle  or 
dispute  about  a  bargain.  Gossip  (God-akin)  once  meant 
a  sponsor  in  baptism.  Simple  and  simplicity  have  sadly 
degenerated  in  meaning.  A  "  simple  "  fellow,  once  a  man 
sine  plica,  (without  fold,  free  from  duplicity,)  is  now  one 
who  lacks  shrewdness,  and  is  easily  cheated  or  duped. 

There  are  some  words  which,  though  not  used  in  an 
absolutely  unfavorable  sense,  yet  require  a  qualifying 
adjective,  to  be  understood  favorably.  Thus,  if  a  man  is 
said  to  be  noted  for  his  curiosity,  a  prying,  impertinent, 
not  a  legitimate,  curiosity  is  supposed  to  be  meant.  So 


CURIOSITIES    OF    LANGUAGE.  297 

critic  and  criticise  are  commonly  associated  with  a  carping, 
fault-finding  spirit.  Parson  (persona  ecclesiae)  had  origi- 
nally no  undertone  of  contempt.  In  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury it  had  become  a  nickname  of  scorn;  and  it  was  at 
a  party  of  a  dozen  parsons  that  the  Earl  of  Sandwich  won 
his  wager,  that  no  one  among  them  had  brought  his  prayer- 
book  or  forgotten  his  corkscrew.  Fellow  was  originally  a 
term  of  respect. —  at  least,  there  was  in  it  no  subaudition 
of  contempt;  now  it  is  suggestive  of  worthlessness,  if  not 
of  positively  bad  morals.  Shakspeare  did  not  mean  to  dis- 
parage Yorick,  the  jester,  when  he  said  that  "  he  was  a 
fellow  of  infinite  jest";  Pope,  on  the  other  hand,  tells  us, 
a  century  or  more  later,  that 

"Worth  makes  the  man,  want  of  it  the  fellow." 

"  By  a  fast  man,  I  presume  you  mean  a  loose  one,"  said 
Sir  Robert  Inglis  to  one  who  was  describing  a  rake.  Of 
all  the  words  which  have  degenerated  from  their  original 
meaning,  the  most  remarkable  is  the  term  dunce,  of  the 
history  of  which  Archbishop  Trench  has  given  a  striking 
account  in  his  work  on  "The  Study  of  Words."  In  the 
Middle  Ages  certain  theologians,  educated  in  the  cathedral 
and  cloister  schools  founded  by  Charlemagne  and  his  suc- 
cessors, were  called  Schoolmen.  Though  they  were  men 
of  great  acuteness  and  subtlety  of  intellect,  their  works, 
at  the  revival  of  learning,  ceased  to  be  popular,  and  it  was 
considered  a  mark  of  intellectual  progress  and  advance 
to  have  thrown  off  their  yoke.  Some  persons,  however, 
still  clung  to  these  Schoolmen,  especially  to  Duns  Scotus, 
the  great  teacher  of  the  Franciscan  order;  and  many  times 
an  adherent  of  the  old  learning  would  seek  to  strengthen 
his  position  by  an  appeal  to  its  great  doctor,  familiarly 
13* 


298  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

called  Duns;  while  his  opponents  would  contemptuously 
rejoin,  "Oh,  you  are  a  Duns-man"  or  more  briefly,  "You 
are  a  Duns.""  As  the  new  learning  was  enlisting  more  and 
more  of  the  scholarship  of  the  age  on  its  side,  the  title 
became  more  and  more  a  term  of  scorn;  and  thus,  from 
that  long  extinct  conflict  between  the  old  and  the  new 
learning,  the  mediaeval  and  the  modern  theology,  we 
inherit  the  words  "dunce"  and  "duncery."  The  lot  of 
poor  Duns,  as  the  Archbishop  observes,  was  certainly  a 
hard  one.  That  the  name  of  "  the  Subtle  Doctor,''  as  he 
was  called,  one  of  the  keenest  and  most  subtle-witted  of 
men, —  according  to  Hooker,  "the  wittiest  of  the  "school 
divines," — should  become  a  synonyme  for  stupidity  and 
obstinate  dulness,  was  a  fate  of  which  even  his  bitterest 
enemies  could  never  have  dreamed. 

COMMON   WORDS   WITH   CURIOUS   DERIVATIONS. 

tin  loiterers  were  once  pilgrims  to  the  Holy  Land  (la 
Sainte  Terre),  who,  it  was  found,  took  their  own  time  to  go 
there.  Bit  is  that  which  has  been  bit  off,  and  exactly  cor- 
responds to  the  word  "  morsel,"  used  in  the  same  sense,  and 
derived  from  the  Latin,  mordere,  to  bite.  Bankrupt  means 
literally  broken  bench.  It  was  the  custom  in  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries  for  the  Lombard  merchants  to 
expose  their  wares  for  sale  in  the  market-place  on  benches. 
When  one  of  their  number  failed,  all  the  other  merchants 
set  upon  him,  drove  him  from  the  market,  and  broke  his 
bench  to  pieces.  Banco  rotto,  the  Italian  for  bench- 
broken,  becomes  banqueroute  in  French,  and  in  English 
bankrupt.  Alligator  is  from  the  Spanish,  el  lag  art  o,  "the 
lizard,"  being  the  largest  of  the  lizard  species.  Stipula- 
tion is  from  stipulum,  a  straw,  which  the  Romans  broke 


CURIOSITIES    OF   LANGUAGE.  299 

when  they  made  a  mutual  engagement.  Dexterity  is  sim- 
ply right-handedness.  Mountebank  means  a  quack-medi- 
cine vendor, —  from  the  Italian,  montare,  to  mount,  and 
banco,  a  bench.  Literally,  one  who  mounts  a  bench  to 
boast  of  his  infallible  skill  in  curing  diseases.  Quandary  is 
a  corruption  of  the  French,  qu'en  dirai  (je)?  "what  shall  I 
say  of  it?"  and  expresses  that  feeling  of  uncertainty  which 
would  naturally  prompt  such  a  question.  Faint  is  from 
the  French,  se  feindre,  to  pretend;  so  that  originally  faint- 
ing was  a  pretended  weakness  or  inability.  We  have  an 
example  of  the  thing  originally  indicated  by  the  word,  in 
the  French  theatres,  where  professional  fainters  are  em- 
ployed, whose  business  it  is  to  be  overcome  and  to  sink 
to  the  floor  under  the  powerful  acting  of  the  tragedians. 
Topsy-turvy  is  said  to  be  a  contraction  or  corruption  of 
"  top-side  t'other  way,"  just  as  helter-skelter  is  from  hilar- 
iter  et  celeriter,  "gaily  and  quickly."  Hip!  hip!  hurrah! 
is  said  to  have  been  originally  a  war-cry  adopted  by  the 
stormers  of  a  German  town,  wherein  a  great  many  Jews  had 
taken  refuge.  The  place  being  sacked,  the  Jews  were  all 
put  to  the  sword,  amid  the  shouts  of  "  Hiersolyma  est  per- 
dita."  From  the  first  letters  of  these  words  (h.  e.  p.)  an 
exclamation  was  contrived.  When  the  wine  sparkles  in 
the  cup,  and  patriotic  or  other  soul-thrilling  sentiments  are 
greeted  with  a  "Hip!  hip!  hurrah!"  it  is  well  enough  to 
remember  the  origin  of  a  cry  which  reminds  us  of  the 
cruelty  of  Christians  towards  God's  chosen  people.  Sexton 
is  a  corruption  of  "sacristan,"  which  is  from  sacra,  the 
sacred  things  of  a  church.  The  sacristan's  office  was  to 
take  care  of  the  vessels  of  the  service  and  the  vestments  of 
the  clergy.  Since  the  Reformation,  his  duties  in  this  respect 
have  been  greatly  lessened,  and  he  has  dug  the  graves, — 


300  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

so  that  the  term  now  commonly  means  grave-digger, 
though  it  still  retains  somewhat  of  its  old  meaning. 

Toad-eater  is  a  metaphor  supposed  to  be  taken  from  a 
mountebank's  boy  eating  toads,  in  order  to  show  his  mas- 
ter's skill  in  expelling  poison.  It  is  more  probable,  how- 
ever, that  the  phrase  is  a  version  of  the  French,  acaler  des 
couleuvres,  which  means  putting  up  with  all  sorts  of  indig- 
nities without  showing  resentment.  The  propriety  of  the 
term  rests  on  the  fact  that  dependent  persons  are  often 
forced  to  do  the  most  nauseous  things  to  please  their 
patrons.  The  same  trick  of  pretending  to  eat  reptiles, 
such  as  toads,  is  held  by  some  etymologists  to  be  the  origin 
of  the  terms  buffoon,  buffoonery,  from  the  Latin,  bufo,  a 
toad.  Wedgwood  derives  it  from  the  French,  bouffo/i,  a 
jester,  from  the  Italian,  buffa,  a  puff,  a  blast  or  a  blurt 
with  the  mouth  made  at  one  in  scorn.  A  puff  with  the 
mouth  indicates  contempt;  it  is  emblematically  mak'tiiy 
light  of  an  object.  In  "David  Copperfield"  we  read: 
"And  who  minds  Dick?  Dick's  nobody!  Whoo!  He 
blew  a  slight,  contemptuous  breath,  as  if  he  blew  himself 
away." 

Cant  (Gaelic,  cainnt,  speech,)  is  properly  the  language 
spoken  by  thieves  and  beggars  among  themselves,  when 
they  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  by  bystanders.  Subse- 
quently, it  came  to  mean  the  peculiar  terms  used  by  any 
other  profession  or  community.  Some  etymologists  derive 
the  word  from  the  Latin,  cantare,  to  sing,  and  suppose  it 
to  signify  the  whining  cry  of  professional  beggars,  though 
it  may  have  obtained  its  beggar  sense  from  some  instinct- 
ive notion  of  its  quasi-religious  one.  It  has  been  noted 
that  the  whole  class  of  words  comprising  enchant,  incanta- 
tion, etc.,  were  primarily  referable  to  religious  ceremonies 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  301 

of  some  kind;  and  as  once  an  important  part  of  a  beggar's 
daily  labor  was  invoking,  or  seeming  to  invoke,  blessings 
on  those  who  gave  him  alms,  this,  with  the  natural  tend- 
ency to  utter  any  oft-repeated  phrases  in  a  sing-song, 
rhythmical  tone,  gave  to  the  word  cant  its  present  signifi- 
cation. In  Scotland  the  word  has  a  peculiar  meaning. 
About  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  Andrew  and 
Alexander  Cant,  of  Edinburgh,  maintained  that  all  refusers 
of  the  covenant  ought  to  be  excommunicated,  and  that  all 
excommunicated  might  lawfully  be  killed;  and  in  their 
grace  after  meat  they  "praid  for  those  phanaticques  and 
seditious  ministers "  who  had  been  arrested  and  impris- 
oned, that  the  Lord  would  pity  and  deliver  them.  From 
these  two  Cants,  Andrew  and  Alexander,  it  is  said,  all 
seditious  praying  and  preaching  in  Scotland  is  called 
"  Canting." 

The  tendency  to  regard  money  as  the  source  of  true  hap- 
piness is  strikingly  illustrated  in  the  word  wealth,  which 
is  connected  with  weal,  just  as  in  Latin  beatus  meant  both 
blessed  and  rich,  and  oXftw;  the  same  in  Greek.  Property 
and  propriety  come  from  the  same  French  word  propriete; 
so  that  the  Frenchman  in  New  York  was  not  far  out  of 
the  way,  when  in  the  panic  of  1857  he  said  he  "  should  lose 
all  his  propriety."  The  term  blue-stocking,  applied  to  liter- 
ary ladies,  has  a  curious  origin.  Originally,  in  England 
in  1760,  it  was  conferred  on  a  society  of  literary  persons 
of  both  sexes.  The  society  derived  its  name  from  the  blue 
worsted  stockings  always  worn  by  Benjamin  Stillingfleet,  a 
distinguished  writer,  who  was  one  of  the  most  active  pro- 
moters of  this  association.  This  term  was  subsequently 
conferred  on  literary  ladies,  from  the  fact  that  the  accom- 
plished and  fascinating  Mrs.  Jerningham  wore  blue  stock- 


302  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ings  at  the  social  and  literary  entertainments  given  by 
Lady  Montague.  Woman  is  the  wif  or  weft-man,  who  stays 
at  home  to  spin,  as  distinguished  from  the  weop-man,  who 
goes  abroad  to  use  the  weapon  of  war.  The  term  "man" 
is,  of  course,  generic,  including  both  male  and  female. 
Lady  primarily  signifies  bread-keeper.  It  is  derived  from 
the  Anglo-Saxon,  hlafdie,  i.  e.,  hlafweardige,  bread-keeper, 
from  hlaf,  bread,  loaf,  and  weardian,  to  keep,  look  after. 
Waist  is  the  same  as  waste;  that  part  of  the  figure  which 
wastes, —  that  is,  diminishes. 

Canard  has  a  very  curious  origin.  M.  Quetelet,  a 
French  writer,  in  the  "  Annuaire  de  T Academic  Fran- 
qaise,"  attributes  the  first  application  of  this  term  to 
Norbert  Corneli'ssen,  who,  to  give  a  sly  hit  at  the  ridicu- 
lous pieces  of  intelligence  in  the  public  journals,  stated 
that  an  interesting  experiment  had  just  been  made  cal- 
culated to  prove  the  voracity  of  ducks.  Twenty  were 
placed  together;  and  one  of  them  having  been  killed  and 
cut  up  into  the  smallest  possible  pieces,  feathers  and  all, 
was  thrown  to  the  other  nineteen,  and  most  gluttonously 
gobbled  up.  Another  was  then  taken  from  the  nineteen, 
and  being  chopped  small  like  its  predecessor,  was  served 
up  to  the  eighteen,  and  at  once  devoured  like  the  other; 
and  so  on  to  the  last,  who  thus  was  placed  in  the  position 
of  having  eaten  his  nineteen  companions.  This  story, 
most  pleasantly  narrated,  ran  the  round  of  all  the  jour- 
nals of  Europe.  It  then  became  almost  forgotten  for 
about  a  score  of  years,  when  it  went  back  from  America 
with  amplifications;  but  the  word  remained  in  its  novel 
signification. 

Abominable  was  once  supposed  to  have  been  derived 
from  the  Latin  words  ab  (from)  and  homo  (a  man),  meaning 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  303 

repugnant  to  humanity.  It  really  comes  from  abominor, 
which  again  is  from  ab  and  omen;  and  it  conveys  the  idea 
of  what  is  in  a  religious  sense  profane  and  detestable, —  in 
short,  of  evil  omen.  Milton  always  applies  it  to  devilish, 
profane,  or  idolatrous  objects.  PoUroon  is  pollice  truncus, 
i.  e.,  with  the  thumb  cut  off, — pollex,  Latin,  meaning 
thumb,  and  truncus,  maimed  or  mutilated.  When  the 
Roman  empire  was  about  falling  in  pieces,  the  valor  of  the 
citizens  had  so  degenerated,  that,  to  escape  fighting,  many 
cut  off  their  right  thumbs,  thus  disabling  themselves  from 
using  the  pike.  Farce  is  derived  from  farcire,  a  Latin  word 
meaning  to  stuff  as  with  flour,  herbs,  and  other  ingredients 
in  cooking.  A  farce  is  a  comedy  with  little  plot,  stuffed 
with  ludicrous  incidents  and  expressions.  Racij  is  from 
"  race,"  meaning  family  breed,  and  signifies  having  the 
characteristic  flavor  of  origin,  savoring  of  the  source. 

Trivial  may  be  from  trivium,  in  the  sense  of  tres  vice,  a 
place  where  three  roads  meet,  and  thus  indicate,  that  which 
is  common-place,  or  of  daily  occurrence.  But  it  is  more 
probably  from  trivium,  in  the  sense  in  which  the  word  was 
used  in  the  Middle  Ages,  when  it  meant  the  course  of  three 
arts,  grammar,  logic,  and  rhetoric,  which  formed  the  com- 
mon curriculum  of  the  universities,  as  distinguished  from 
the  quadrimum,  which  embraced  four  more,  namely,  music, 
arithmetic,  geometry,  and  astronomy.  Trivial  things  in 
this  sense  may  mean  things  that  occur  ordinarily,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  higher  or  more  abstruse  things.  The  word 
quiz  has  a  remarkable  origin,  unless  the  etymologists  who 
give  its  derivation  are  themselves  quizzing  their  readers. 
It  is  said  that  many  years  ago,  when  one  Daly  was  patentee 
of  the  Irish  theatres,  he  spent  the  evening  of  a  Saturday 
in  company  with  many  of  the  wits  and  men  of  fashion  of 


304  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

the  day.  Gambling  was  introduced,  when  the  manager 
staked  a  large  sum  that  he  would  have  spoken,  all  through 
the  principal  streets  of  Dublin,  by  a  certain  hour  next  day, 
Sunday,  a  word  having  no  meaning,  and  being  derived 
from  no  known  language.  Wagers  were  laid,  and  stakes 
deposited.  Daly  repaired  to  the  theatre,  and  dispatched  all 
the  servants  and  supernumeraries  with  the  word  "Quiz," 
which  they  chalked  on  every  door  and  every  shop  window 
in  town.  Shops  being  all  shut  next  day,  everybody  going 
to  and  coming  from  the  different  places  of  worship  saw 
the  word,  and  everybody  repeated  it,  so  that  "Quiz"  was 
heard  all  through  Dublin;  the  circumstance  of  so  strange 
a  word  being  on  every  door  and  window  caused  much  sur- 
prise, and  ever  since,  should  a  strange  story  be  attempted 
to  be  passed  current,  it  draws  forth  the  expression, — "  You 
are  quizzing  me."  Some  person  who  has  a  just  aversion 
to  practical  jokes,  wittily  defines  a  "quizzer"  as  "one  who 
believes  me  to  be  a  fool  because  I  will  not  believe  him 
to  be  a  liar." 

Huguenot  is  a  word  whose  origin  is  still  a  vexata  qucestio 
of  etymology.  Of  the  many  derivations  given,  some  of 
which  are  ridiculously  fanciful,  "  Eignots,"  which  Voltaire 
and  others  give  from  the  German,  Eidgenossen,  confeder- 
ates,— is  the  one  generally,  received.  A  plausible  deri- 
vation is  from  Huguenot,  a  small  piece  of  money,  which,  in 
the  time  of  Hugo  Capet,  was  worth  less  than  a  denier. 
At  the  time  of  Amboisi's  conspiracy,  some  of  the  petitioners 
fled  through  fear;  whereupon  some  of  the  countrymen  said 
they  were  poor  fellows,  not  worth  a  Huguenot, —  whence 
the  nickname  in  question.  Pensire  is  a  picturesque  word, 
from  pensare,  the  frequentative  of  pendere,  to  weigh.  The 
French  have  pens&,  a  thought,  the  result  of  mental  weigh- 


CTJKIOSITIES    OF   LANGUAGE.  305 

ing.  A  pensive  figure  is  that  in  which  a  person  appears 
to  be  holding  an  invisible  balance  of  reflection.  Bumper 
is  a  corruption  of  le  bon  pere,  meaning  "  the  Holy  Father," 
or  Pope,  who  was  once  the  great  toast  of  every  feast.  As 
this  was  commonly  the  first  toast,  it  was  considered  that 
the  glasses  would  be  desecrated  by  being  again  used. 

Nice  is  derived  by  some  etymologists  from  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  hnesc,  soft,  effeminate;  but  there  is  good  reason  for 
believing  that  it  is  from  the  Latin,  nescius,  ignorant. 
"Wise,  and  nothing  nice,"  says  Chaucer;  that  is,  no  wise 
ignorant.  If  so,  it  is  a  curious  instance  of  the  extraordi- 
nary changes  of  meaning  which  words  undergo,  that 
"nice"  should  come  to  signify  accurate  or  fastidious,  which 
implies  knowledge  and  taste  rather  than  ignorance.  The 
explanation  is,  that  the  diffidence  of  ignorance  resembles 
the  fastidious  slowness  of  discernment.  Gibberish  is  from 
a  famous  sage,  Giber,  an  Arab,  who  sought  for  the  phi- 
losopher's stone,  and  used,  perhaps,  senseless  incantations. 
Alert  is  a  picturesque  word  from  the  Italian,  all  'erte, —  on 
the  mound  or  rampart.  The  "alert"  man  is  one  who  is 
wide-awake  and  watchful,  like  the  warder  on  the  watch- 
tower,  or  the  sentinel  upon  the  rampart.  By-laws  are 
not,  etymologically,  laws  of  inferior  importance,  but  the 
laws  of  "byes"  or  towns,  as  distinguished  from  the  gen- 
eral laws  of  a  kingdom.  By  is  Danish  for  town  or  vil- 
lage: as  "  Whitby,"  White  Town,  "Derby,"  Deer  Town,  etc. 

A  writer  in  "Notes  and  Queries"  suggests  that  the 
word  snobs  may  be  of  classical  origin,  derived  from  sine 
obola,  without  a  penny.  It  is  not  probable,  however,  that 
it  was  meant  as  a  sneer  at  poverty  only.  A  more  ingen- 
ious suggestion  is  that,  as  the  higher  classes  were  called 
"nobs," — i.  e.,  nobilitas,  the  nobility, —  the  "s-nobs"  were 


306  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

those  sine  nobilitate,  without  any  blue  blood  in  their  veins, 
or  pure  aristocratic  breeding.  Humbug  is  an  expressive 
word,  about  the  origin  of  which  etymologists  are  disagreed. 
An  ingenious  explanation,  not  given  in  the  dictionaries, 
is,  that  it  is  derived  from  Hume  of  the  Boy,  a  Scotch 
laird,  so  called  from  his  estate,  who  lived  during  the 
reign  of  William  and  Anne.  He  was  celebrated  in  Edin- 
burgh circles  for  his  marvelous  stories,  which,  in  the 
exhausting  draughts  they  made  on  his  hearer's  credulity, 
out-Munchausened  Munchausen.  Hence,  any  tough  story 
was  called  a  "  a  regular  Hume  of  the  Bog,"  or,  by  con- 
traction, Humbug.  Another  etymology  of  humbug  is  a 
piece  of  Hamburg  news;  i.  e.,  a  Stock  Exchange  canard. 
Webster  derives  the  word  from  hum,  to  impose  on,  deceive, 
and  bug,  a  frightful  object,  a  bugbear.  Wedgwood  thinks 
it  may  come  from  the  union  of  hum  and  buzz,  signifying 
sound  without  sense.  He  cites  a  catch,  set  by  Dr.  Arne 
in  "Notes  and  Queries": 

"Buz,  quoth  the  blue  fly, 

Hum,  quoth  the  bee, 
Buz  and  hum  they  cry. 
And  so  do  we." 

Imbecile  is  from  the  Latin,  in  and  bacillum,  a  walking- 
stick;  one  who  through  infirmity  leans  for  support  upon  a 
stick.  Petrels  are  little  Peters,  because,  like  the  apostles, 
they  can  walk  on  the  water.  Hocus  pocus  is  a  corruption 
of  Hoc  est  corpus,  "this  is  the  body,"  words  once  used  in 
necromancy  or  jugglery.  Chagrin  is  primarily  a  hard, 
granulated  leather,  which  chafes  the  limbs;  hence,  second- 
arily, irritation  or  vexation.  Canon  is  from  a  Greek  word 
meaning  "cane";  first  a  hollow  rule  or  a  cane  used  as  a 
measure,  then  a  law  or  rule.  The  word  is  identical  with 


CURIOSITIES    OF    LANGUAGE.  307 

"cannon,"  so  called  from  its  hollow,  tube-like  form. 
Hence  it  has  been  wittily  said  that  the  world  in  the 
Middle  Ages  was  governed  first  by  canons,  and  then  by 
cannons, —  first,  by  Saint  Peter,  and  then  by  saltpetre. 

Booby  primarily  denotes  a  person  who  gapes  and  stares 
about,  wondering  at  everything.  From  the  syllable  ba, 
representing  the  opening  of  the  mouth,  are  formed  the 
French  words  baier,  beer,  to  gape,  and  thence  in  the  patois 
of  the  Hainault,  baia,  the  mouth,  and  figuratively  one  who 
stands  staring  with  open  mouth,  boubie.  Webster  thinks 
the  word  is  derived  from  the  French  boubie,  a  waterfowl. 
Pet,  a  darling,  is  from  the  French  petit,  which  comes  from 
the  Latin,  petitus,  sought  after.  "My  pet"  means  literally 
"  my  sought  after  or  desired  one."  Petty  is  also  from  the 
French,  petit,  little.  Assassin  is  derived  from  the  Persian, 
hashish,  an  intoxicating  opiate.  "The  Assassins"  were  a 
tribe  of  fanatics,  who  lived  in  the  mountains  of  Lebanon, 
and  executed  with  terror  and  subtlety  every  order  entrusted 
to  them  by  their  chief,  the  "  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain." 
They  made  a  jest  of  torture  when  seized,  and  were  the 
terror  alike  of  Turk  and  Christian.  They  resembled  the 
Thugs  of  India.  Blunderbuss  (properly  thunder-buss)  is 
from  the  German  buchse,  applied  to  a  rifle,  a  box;  hence 
"arque&wss"  and  "Brown  Bess."  Bosh  is  derived,  accord- 
ing to  some  etymologists,  from  a  Turkish  word  meaning 
"empty," — according  to  others,  from  the  German,  bosse,  a 
joke  or  trifle.  Mr.  Blackley,  in  his  "  Word-Gossip,"  says  it 
is  the  pure  gypsy  word  for  "fiddle,"  which  suggests  the 
semi-sanctioned  fiddle-de-dee!  Person  primarily  meant  an 
actor.  The  Roman  theatres,  which  could  hold  thirty  to 
forty  thousand  spectators,  were  so  large  that  the  actors 
wore  masks  containing  a  contrivance  to  render  the  voice 


308  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

louder.  Such  a  mask  was  called  persona,  (per  sonare,  to 
sound  through,)  because  the  voice  sounded  through  it.  By 
a  common  figure  of  speech,  the  word  meaning  "mask" 
(persona)  was  afterwards  applied  to  its  wearer;  so  per- 
sona came  to  signify  "  actor."  But  as  all  men  are 
actors,  playing  each  his  part  on  the  stage  of  life,  the 
word  "  person "  came  afterwards  to  signify  a  man  or 
woman.  Parson,  the  "chief  person"  of  a  parish,  is  an- 
other form  of  the  same  word.  Curmudgeon  is  probably 
from  corn-merchant,  one  who  tries  to  enrich  himself  by 
hoarding  grain  and  withholding  it  from  others;  or  it  may 
be  from  the  French,  coeur,  (the  heart,)  and  mediant 
(wicked).  Haberdasher  is  from  the  German,  Habt  ihr  das 
hier?  i.e.,  Have  you  this  here?  Hoax  is  from  the  Anglo- 
Saxon,  husc,  mockery  or  contempt;  or,  perhaps  it  is  from 
hocus-pocus,  which  was  at  one  time  used  to  ridicule  the 
Roman  Catholic  doctrine  of  transubstantiation. 

Right  is  from  the  Latin,  rectus,  ruled,  proceeding  in  a 
straight  line;  wrong  is  the  perfect  participle  of  "wring," 
that  which  has  been  "wrung"  or  wrested  from  the  right; 
just  as  in  French  tort  is  from  torqueo,  that  which  is 
twisted.  Humble-pie  is  properly  "  umble-pie."  The  um- 
bles  were  the  entrails  or  coarser  parts  of  the  deer,  the 
perquisite  of  the  keeper  or  huntsman.  Pantaloon  is  from 
the  Italian,  piante  leone,  (panta-leone,  pantaloon,)  "the 
Planter  of  the  Lion";  that  is,  the  Standard-Bearer  of 
Venice.  The  Lion  of  St.  Mark  was  the  standard  of  Venice. 
"Pantaloon"  was  a  masked  character  in  the  Italian  com- 
edy, the  butt  of  the  play,  who  wore  breeches  and  stockings 
that  were  all  of  one  piece.  The  Spanish  language  has 
panalon,  a  slovenly  fellow  whose  shirt  hangs  out  of  his 
breeches.  Cheat  is  from  the  Latin,  cadere,  to  fall.  The 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  309 

word  "  escheats  "  first  denoted  lands  that  fell  to  the  crown 
by  forfeiture.  The  "  escheatours,"  who  certified  these  to 
the  Exchequer,  practiced  so  much  fraud,  that,  by  a  natural 
transition,  the  "escheatour"  passed  into  "cheater,"  and 
"escheat"  into  "cheat." 

Salary  is  from  the  Latin,  sal  (salt),  which  in  the  reign 
of  the  Emperor  Augustus  comprised  the  provisions,  as  well 
as  the  pay,  of  the  Roman  military  officers.  From  "  salary  " 
came,  probably,  the  expression,  " He  is  not  worth  his  salt" 
that  is,  his  pay,  or  wages.  Kidnap  is  from  the  German, 
kind,  or  Provincial  English,  kid,  meaning  "child,"  and  nap 
or  nab,  "to  steal," — to  steal  children.  Hawk,  in  Anglo- 
Saxon,  hafoc,  points  to  the  havoc  which  that  bird  makes 
among  the  smaller  ones;  as  raven  expresses  the  greedy  or 
"  ravenous  "  disposition  of  the  bird  so  named.  Oivl  is  said 
to  be  the  past  participle  of  "  to  yell,"  (as  in  Latin  ulula, 
the  screech-owl,  is  from  ululare,)  and  differs  from  "  howl " 
only  in  its  spelling.  Solecism  is  from  Soli,  a  town  of 
Cilicia,  the  people  of  which  corrupted  the  pure  Greek. 
Squirrel  is  from  two  Greek  words,  <rxta,  a  shade,  and  ofyd, 
a  tail.  Sycophant  is  primarily  a  "fig-shower";  one  who 
informed  the  public  officers  of  Attica  that  the  law  against 
the  exportation  of  figs  had  been  violated.  Hence  the  word 
came  to  mean  a  common  informer,  a  mean  parasite.  Para- 
site, from  the  Greek  napd  beside,  and  alroq,  food,  means 
literally  one  who  eats  at  the  table  of  another, —  a  priv- 
ilege which  is  apt  to  be  paid  for  by  obsequiousness  and 
flattery. 

Sarcasm,  from  the  Greek,  adp^,  flesh,  xaZ<u,  I  tear,  is 
literally  a  tearing  of  the  flesh.  Tribulation  is  from  the 
Latin,  tribulum,  a  kind  of  sledge  or  heavy  roller,  which 
did  the  work  of  the  English  flail,  by  hard  grinding  and 


310  WORDS  ;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

wearing,  instead  of  by  repeated  light  strokes.  Troubles, 
afflictions  and  sorrows  being  the  divinely  appointed  means 
for  separating  the  chaff  from  the  wheat  of  men's  natures, 
—  the  light  and  trivial  from  the  solid  and  valuable, —  the 
early  Christians,  by  a  rustic  but  familiar  metaphor,  called 
these  sorrows  and  trials  "  tribulations,"  threshings  of  the 
inner  spiritual  man,  by  which  only  could  he  be  fitted  for 
the  heavenly  garner.  As  Wither  beautifully  sings: 

"Till  the  mill  the  grains  in  pieces  tear, 
The  richness  of  the  flour  will  scarce  appear; 
So  till  men's  persons  great  afflictions  touch, 
If  worth  be  found,  their  worth  is  not  much; 
Because,  like  wheat  in  straw,  they  have  not  yet 
That. value,  which  in  threshing  they  may  get." 

Talibij,  a  familiar  name  of  cats,  is  the  French  tabi*. 
which  comes  from  the  Persian  retabi,  a  rich  watered  silk, 
and  denotes  the  wavy  bars  upon  their  coats.  Schooner  has 
a  curious  derivation.  In  1713  Captain  Andrew  Robinson 
launched  the  first  vessel  of  this  kind,  with  gaffs  instead  of 
the  lateen  yards  until  then  in  use,  and  the  luif  of  the  sail 
bent  to  hoops  on  the  mast.  As  she  slipped  down  the  ways 
a  bystander  exclaimed,  "Oh,  how  she  scoons ! " •  —  where- 
upon the  builder,  catching  at  the  word,  replied,  "A  SCOOH<T 
let  her  be!"  Originally  the  word  was  spelled  without  the 
h.  Supercilious,  from  supercilium  (the  eyebrow),  is  liter- 
ally knitting  the  eyebrows  in  pride.  Slave  chronicles  the 
contest  between  the  Teutonic  and  Sclavonic  or  Slavonic 
races.  When  a  German  captured  a  Russian  or  Bohemian, 
he  would  call  him  a  sclave  or  slave,  whereby  the  word 
became  associated  with  the  idea  Of  servitude.  In  Oriental 
France,  in  the  eighth  century,  princes  and  bishops  were 
rich  in  these  captives. 

t  is  from  semis,  which  the  Justinian  code  derives 


CURIOSITIES    OF    LANGUAGE.  311 

from  serrare,  to  preserve, —  because  the  victor  preserved 
his  captives  alive,  instead  of  killing  them. 

Scrupulous  is  from  the  Latin,  scrupulus,  a  small,  sharp 
stone,  such  as  might  get  into  a  Roman  traveler's  open 
shoe  arid  distress  him,  whence  the  further  meaning  of 
doubt  or  a  source  of  doubt  and  hesitation.  Afterwards  the 
word  came  to  express  a  measure  of  weight,  the  twenty- 
fourth  part  of  an  ounce;  and  hence  to  be  scrupulous  is  to 
pay  minute,  nice  and  exact  attention  to  matters  often  in 
themselves  of  small  weight.  Plagiarism  is  literally  man- 
stealing.  As  books  are  one's  mental  offspring,  the  word 
came  naturally  to  mean,  first,  the  stealing  of  a  book  or 
manuscript  which  the  thief  published  as  his  own;  secondly, 
quoting  from  another  man's  writings  without  acknowledg- 
ment. Parlor,  from  parler,  to  speak,  is  therefore  the  talk- 
ing-room, as  boudoir,  from  bonder,  to  pout,  is  literally  the 
pouting-rooin.  Egregious  is  from  the  Latin  ex,  from,  and 
grege,  flock  or  herd.  An  "egregious"  lie  is  one  distin- 
guished from  the  common  herd  of  lies,  such  as  one  meets 
with  in  every  patent- medicine  advertisement  and  political 
newspaper.  Negotiate  is  from  negotior,  compounded  of 
ne  ego  otior,  I  am  not  idle. 

The  origin  of  the  word  caucus  has  long  been  a  vexed 
question  with  etymologists.  Till  recently  it  was  supposed 
by  many  to  be  a  corruption  of  "  caulkers,"  being  derived 
from  an  association  of  these  men  in  Boston,  who  met  to 
organize  resistance  to  England  just  before  the  Revolu- 
tionary War.  Dr.  J.  Hammond  Trumbull,  of  Hartford, 
Connecticut,  has  suggested  a  new  and  ingenious  derivation 
of  the  term,  which  is  more  satisfactory,  and  probably  cor- 
rect. Strachey,  in  his  "  Historic  of  Travaile  into  Virginia," 
1610-12  (printed  by  the  Hakluyt  Society,  1849),  says  that 


312  WORDS;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

the  Chechahamanias,  a  free  people,  acknowledging  the 
supremacy  of  Powhatan,  were  governed,  not  by  a  weroom-i'. 
commander,  sent  by  Powhatan,  but  by  their  priests,  with 
the  assistance  of  their  elders;  and  this  board  was  called 
cawcawwas.  Captain  John  Smith  writes  cockerouse  for  caw- 
cawwas, in  the  sense  of  "captain";  but  the  English  gener- 
ally understood  it  in  the  sense  of  "counselor,"  and  adopted 
it  from  the  Indians,  as  Beverley  states  that  it  designates 
"one  that  has  the  honor  to  be  of  the  king's  or  queen's 
council,"  a  provincial  councillor,  just  as  Northern  politi- 
cians now  use  the  word  sachem,  and  formerly  used  mugwomj). 
The  verb  from  which  cawcawwas,  or  cockerouse,  comes  means 
primarily  "to  talk  to,"  hence  to  "harangue,"  "advise," 
"encourage,"  and  is  found  in  all  Algonquin  dialects,  as 
Abnaki  kakesoo,  to  incite,  and  Chippeway  gaganso  (n  nasal), 
to  exhort,  urge,  counsel.  Cawcawwas,  representing  the 
adjective  form  of  this  verb,  is  "one  who  advises,  pro- 
motes,"—  a  caucuser.  Manumit  is  from  manus,  hand,  and 
mittere,  to  dismiss, —  to  dismiss  a  slave  with  a  slap  of  the 
hand,  on  setting  him  free.  Hypocrite  comes  from  two 
Greek  words  signifying  "under  a  mask."  It  meant  first 
a  stage-player,  and  next  any  one  who  feigns  or  plays  a 
part.  The  ancient  actors  wore  masks,  and  spoke  through 
trumpets.  Kennel,  a  dog-house,  is  from  the  Italian,  cani/i-. 
and  this  from  the  Latin,  cam's,  a  dog.  Kennel,  in  the  sense 
of  gutter,  with  its  kindred  words,  can,  cane,  and  chaiux-l, 
is  derived  from  canna,  a  cane,  which  is  like  a  tube. 

Apple-pie  order  is  a  popular  phrase  of  which  few  per- 
sons know  the  meaning.  Does  it  signify  in  order,  or  in 
disorder?  A  writer  in  the  "North-British  Review"  favors 
the  latter  interpretation.  He  thinks  that  it  has  nothing 
to  do  with  apple  or  pie,  in  the  common  sense  of  those  words. 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  313 

He  believes  that  it  is  a  typographical  term,  and  that  it 
\va.s  originally  "  Chapel  pie."  A  printing-house  was  and  is 
to  this  day  called  a  chapel, —  perhaps  from  the  Chapel  at 
Westminster  Abbey,  in  which  Caxton's  earliest  works  are 
said  to  have  been  printed,  and  "pie"  is  type  after  it  is 
"distributed"  or  broken  up,  and  before  it  has  been  re- 
sorted. " '  Pie '  in  this  sense  came  from  the  confused  and 
fti-r/tlejcing  rules  of  the  '  Pie,'  that  is,  the  order  for  finding 
the  lessons  in  Catholic  times,  which  those  who  have  read  or 
care  to  read  the  Preface  to  the  '  Book  of  Common  Prayer,' 
will  find  there  expressed  and  denounced.  Here  is  the 
passage :  '  Moreover  the  number  and  hardness  of  the  rules 
called  the  Pie,  and  the  manifold  changings  of  the  service, 
was  the  cause  that  to  turn  the  book  only  was  so  hard 
and  intricate  a  matter,  that  many  times  there  was  more 
business  to  find  out  what  should  be  read  than  to  read  it 
when  it  was  found  out.'  To  leave  your  type  in  '  pie '  is  to 
leave  it  unsorted  and  in  confusion,  and  '  apple-pie  order,' 
which  we  take  to  be  'chapel-pie  order,'  is  to  leave  any- 
thing in  a  thorough  mess.  Those  who  like  to  take  the 
other  side,  and  assert  that  '  apple-pie  order '  means  in  per- 
fect order,  may  still  find  their  derivation  in  '  chapel-pie ' ; 
for  the  ordering  and  sorting  of  the  '  pie'  or  type  is  enforced 
in  every  '  chapel '  or  printing-house  by  severe  fines,  and  so 
'chapel-pie  order'  would  -be  such  order  of  the  type  as  the 
best  friends  of  the  chapel  would  wish  to  see." — The  bitter 
end,  a  phrase  often  heard  during  the  late  Civil  War,  has 
a  remarkable  etymology.  A  ship's  cable  has  always  two 
ends.  One  end  is  fastened  to  the  anchor  and  the  other  to 
the  bits,  or  bitts,  a  frame .  of  two  strong  pieces  of  timber 
fixed  perpendicularly  in  the  fore  part  of  the  ship,  for  the 
express  purpose  of  holding  the  cables.  Hence  the  "bil- 
14 


314  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

ter,"  or  "bitter  end,"  is  the. end  fastened  to  the  bitts; 
and  when  the  cable  is  out  to  the  "bitter  end,"  it  is  all 
out;  the  extremity  has  come. 

Few  persons  who  utter  the  word  stranger,  suspect  that 
it  has  its  root,  as  Dugald  Stewart  has  noted,  in  the  single 
vowel  e,  the  Latin  preposition  for  "  from."  The  links  in 
the  chain  are, —  e,  ex,  extra,  extraneous,  Stranger,  stranger. 
When  a  boy  answers  a  lady,  "Fes'm,"  he  does  not  dream 
that  his  "  'm  "  is  a  fragment  of  the  five  syllables,  mea  dom- 
ina  (madonna,  madame,  madam,  ma'am,  'm).  The  words 
thrall  and  thraldom  have  an  interesting  history.  They  come 
to  us  from  a  period  when  it  was  customary  to  thrill  or  drill 
the  ear  of  a  slave  in  token  of  servitude;  and  hence  the 
significance  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne's  remark,  "  Bow  not 
to  the  omnipotency  of  gold,  nor  bore  thy  ear  to  its  serv- 
itude." The  expression  "signing  one's  name"  takes  us 
back  to  an  age  when  most  persons  made  their  mark  or 
"  sign."  We  must  not  suppose  that  this  practice  was 
then,  as  now,  a  proof  of  the  ignorance  of  the  signer. 
Among  the  Saxons,  not  only  illiterate  persons  made  this 
sign,  but,  as  an  attestation  of  the  good  faith  of  the  per- 
son signing,  the  mark  of  the  cross  was  required  to  be 
attached  to  the  name  of  those  who  could  write.  From  its 
holy  association,  it  was  the  symbol  of  an  oath;  and  hence 
the  expression  "God  save  the  mark!"  which  so  long  puz- 
zled the  commentators  of  Shakspeare,  is  now  understood 
to  be  a  form  of  ejaculation  resembling  an  oath.  It  is 
said  that  Charlemagne,  being  unable  to  write,  was  com- 
pelled to  dip  the  forefinger  of  his  glove  in  ink,  and  smear 
it  over  the  parchment  when  it  was  necessary  that  the 
imperial  sign-manual  should  be  fixed  to  an  edict. 

The  language  of  savages  teems  with  expressions  of  deep 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  315 

interest  both  to  the  philologist  and  the  student  of  human 
nature.  Speech  with  them  is  a  perpetual  creation  of  ut- 
terances to  image  forth  the  total  picture  in  their  minds. 
The  Indian  "  does  not  analyze  his  thoughts  or  separate  his 
utterances;  his  thoughts  rush  forth  in  a  troop.  His  speech 
is  as  a  kindling  cloud,  not  as  radiant  points  of  light."  The 
Lenni  Lenape  Indians  express  by  one  polysyllable  what 
with  us  requires  seven  monosyllables  and  three  dissyl- 
lables, viz. :  "  Come  with  the  canoe  and  take  us  across  the 
river."  This  polysyllable  is  nadholineen,  and  it  is  formed 
by  taking  parts  of  several  words  and  cementing  them  into 
one.  The  natives  of  the  Society  Isles  have  one  word  for 
the  tail  of  a  dog,  another  for  the  tail  of  a  bird,  and  a  third 
for  the  tail  of  a  sheep,  while  for  tail  itself,  tail  in  the  ab- 
stract, they  have  no  word  whatever.  The  Mohicans  have 
words  for  wood-cutting,  cutting  the  head,  etc.,  yet  no 
verb  meaning  simply  to  cut.  Some  Indian  tribes  call  a 
squirrel  by  a  name  signifying  that  he  "  can  stick  fast  in 
a  tree  " ;  a  mole,  by  a  word  signifying  "  carrying  the  right 
hand  on  the  left  shoulder " ;  and  they  have  a  name  for  a 
horse  which  means  "  having  only  one  toe."  Among  the 
savages  of  the  Pacific,  to  think  is  "to  speak  in  the  stom- 
ach." 

WORDS   OF   ILLUSIVE    ETYMOLOGY. 

In  the  lapse  of  ages  words  undergo  great  changes  of 
form,  so  that  it  becomes  at  last  difficult  or  impossible  to 
ascertain  their  origin.  Terms,  of  which  the  composition 
was  originally  clear,  are  worn  and  rubbed  by  use  like  the 
pebbles  which  are  fretted  and  rounded  into  shape  and 
smoothness  by  the  sea  waves  or  by  a  rapid  stream.  Like 
the  image  and  superscription  of  a  coin,  their  meaning  is. 


316  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

often  so  worn  away  that  one  cannot  make  even  a  probable 
guess  at  their  origin.  One  of  the  commonest  causes  of  the 
corruptions  of  words,  by  which  their  sources  and  original 
meanings  are  disguised,  is  the  instinctive  dislike  we  feel  to 
the  use  of  a  word  that  is  wholly  new  to  us,  and  the  conse- 
quent tendency  to  fasten  upon  it  a  meaning  which  shall 
remove  its  seemingly  arbitrary  character.  Foreign  words, 
therefore,  when  adopted  into  a  language,  are  especially 
liable  to  these  changes,  being  corrupted  both  in  pronunci- 
ation and  orthography.  By  thus  Anglicizing  them,  we  not 
only  avoid  the  uncouth,  barbarous  sounds  which  are  so 
offensive  to  the  ear,  but  we  help  the  memory  by  associ- 
ating the  words  with  others  already  known. 

The  mistakes  which  have  been  made  in  attempting  to 
trace  the  origin  of  words  thus  disguised,  have  done  not  a 
little,  at  times,  to  bring  philology  into  contempt.  The 
philologist,  unless  he  has  much  native  good  sense,  and  rules 
his  inclinations  with  an  iron  rod,  is  apt  to  become  a  verbo- 
maniac.  There  is  a  strange  fascination  in  word-hunting, 
and  his  hobby-horse,  it  has  been  aptly  said,  is  a  strong- 
goer  that  trifles  never  balk.  "  To  him  the  British  Channel 
is  a  surface  drain,  the  Alps  and  Apennines  mere  posts  and 
rails,  the  Mediterranean  a  simple  brook,  and  the  Hima- 
layas only  an  outlying  cover."  Cowper  justly  ridicules 
those  word-hunters  who,  in  their  eagerness  to  make  some 
startling  discovery,  never  pause  to  consider  whether  there 
is  any  historic  connection  between  two  languages,  one  of 
which  is  supposed  to  have  borrowed  a  word  from  an- 
other,— 

"  learn'd  philologists,  who  chase 
A  panting  syllable  through  time  and  space, 
Start  it  at  home,  and  hunt  it  in  the  dark, 
TO  GauJ,— to  Greece,  — and  into  Noah's  ark," 


CURIOSITIES   OF  LANGUAGE.  317 

A  fundamental  rule,  to  be  kept  constantly  in  sight  by 
those  who  would  not  etymologize  at  random,  is,  that  no 
amount  of  resemblance  between  words  in  different  lan- 
guages is  sufficient  to  prove  their  relationship,  nor  is  any 
amount  of  seeming  unlikeness  in  sound  or  form  sufficient 
to  disprove  their  consanguinity.  Many  etymologies  are 
true  which  appear  improbable,  and  many  appear  probable 
which  are  not  true.  As  Max  Miiller  says:  "Sound  ety- 
mology has  nothing  to  do  with  sound.  We  know  words  to 
be  of  the  same  origin  which  have  not  a  single  letter  in 
common,  and  which  differ  in  meaning  as  much  as  black 
and  white."  Fuller  amusingly  says  that  "  we  are  not  to 
infer  the  Hebrew  and  the  English  to  be  cognate  languages 
because  one  of  the  giants,  son  of  Anak,  was  called  A-hi- 
man " ;  yet  some  of  his  own  etymologies,  though  witty  and 
ingenious,  are  hardly  more  correct  than  this  punning  deri- 
vation. Thus  compliments,  he  says,  is  derived  from  a 
complete  mentiri,  because  compliments  are  in  general  com- 
pletely mendacious;  and  he  quotes  approvingly  Sir  John 
Harrington's  derivation  of  the  old  English  elf  and  goblin, 
from  the  names  of  the  two  political  factions  of  the  Empire, 
the  Guelphs  and  the  Ghibellines. 

Archbishop  Trench  speaks  of  an  eminent  philologist 
who  deduced  girl  from  garrula,  girls  being  commonly  talk- 
ative. Frontispiece  is  usually  regarded  as  a  piece  or  pict- 
ure in  front  of  a  book;  whereas  it  means  literally  "a  front 
view,"  being  from  the  Low  Latin,  frontispicium,  the  fore- 
front of  a  house.  The  true  origin  of  many  words  is 
hidden  by  errors  in  the  spelling.  Bran-new  is  brand- 
new,  i.  e.,  "  burnt  new."  Grocer  should  be  "  grosser," 
(one  who  sells  in  the  gross);  pigmy  is  properly  "pygmy," 
as  Worcester  spells  it,  and  means  a  thing  the  size  of  one's 


318  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 


fist  (TTuj'fj.Tj).  Policy  (state-craft)  is  rightly  spelled;  but 
"policies  of  insurance"  ought  to  have  the  "11,"  the  word 
being  derived  from  polUceor,  to  promise  or  assure.  Island 
looks  as  if  it  were  compounded  of  isle  and  land;  but  it  is 
the  same  word  as  the  Anglo-Saxon  ealand  (water-land), 
compounded  of  ea  (water)  and  land.  So  Jersey  is  literally 
Ccesar's  island.  Lieutenant  has  been  pronounced  leftenant, 
from  a  notion  that  this  officer  holds  the  left  of  the  line 
while  the  captain  holds  the  right.  The  word  comes  from 
the  French,  lieu-tenant,  one  holding  the  place  of  another. 

Wiseacre  has  no  connection  with  acre.  The  word  is 
a  corruption,  both  in  spelling  and  pronunciation,  of  the 
German  weissager,  a  wise-sayer,  or  sayer  of  wise  maxims. 
Gooseberry,  Dr.  Johnson  explains  as  "  a  fruit  eaten  as  a 
sauce  for  goose."  It  is,  however,  a  corruption  of  the 
German,  krausbeere,  —  from  kraus  or  gorse,  crisp;  and 
the  fruit  gets  its  name  from  the  upright  hairs  with  which 
it  is  covered.  Shame-faced  does  not  mean  having  a  face 
denoting  shame.  It  is  from  the  Anglo-Saxon,  sceamfaest, 
protected  4>y  shame.  Surname  is  from  the  French,  surnom, 
meaning  additional  name,  and  should  not,  therefore,  be 
spelled  sirname,  as  if  it  meant  the  name  of  one's  sire. 
Freemason  is  not  half  Saxon,  but  is  from  the  French,  frere- 
macon,  brother  mason.  Foolscap  is  a  corruption  of  the 
Italian,  foglio  capo,  a  full-sized  sheet  of  paper.  Country- 
dance  is  a  corruption  of  the  French  contre-danse,  in  which 
the  partners  stand  in  opposite  lines. 

Bishop,  which  looks  like  an  Anglo-Saxon  word,  is  from 
the  Greek.  It  means  primarily  an  overseer,  in  Latin,  epis- 
copus,  which  the  Saxons  broke  down  into  "biscop,"  and 
then  softened  into  "bishop."  There  was  formerly  an  ad- 
jective bishoply;  but  as,  after  the  Norman  Conquest,  the 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  319 

bishops,  and  those  who  discussed  their  rights  and  duties, 
used  French  and  Latin  rather  than  English,  "episcopal" 
has  taken  its  place.  Among  the  foreign  words  most  fre- 
quently corrupted  are  the  names  of  plants,  which  garden- 
ers, not  understanding,  change  into  words  that  sound  like 
the  true  ones,  and  with  which  they  are  familiar.  In  their 
new  costume  they  often  lose  all  their  original  significance 
and  beauty.  To  this  source  of  corruption  we  owe  such 
words  as  dandelion,  from  the  French,  dent  de  lion  (lion's 
tooth);  rosemary,  from  ros  marinus;  quarter-sessions  rose, 
the  meaningless  name  of  the  beautiful  rose  des  quatre 
saisons;  Jerusalem  artichoke,  into  which,  with  a  ludicrous 
disregard  for  geography,  we  have  metamorphosed  the  sun- 
flower artichoke,  articiocco  girasole,  which  came  to  us  from 
Pery  through  Italy;  and  sparrowgrass,  which  we  have 
substituted  for  asparagus. 

Animals  have  fared  no  better  than  plants;  the  same 
dislike  of  outlandish  words,  which  are  meaningless  to  them, 
leads  sailors  to  corrupt  Bellerophon  into  Billy  Ruffian,  and 
hostlers  to  convert  Othello  and  Desdemona  into  "  Odd  Fellow 
and  Thursday  morning,"  and  Lamprocles  into  "Lamb  and 
Pickles."  The  souris  dormeuse,  or  sleeping  mouse,  has 
been  transformed  into  a  dormouse;  the  hog-fish,  or  porc- 
pisce,  as  Spenser  terms  him,  is  disguised  as  a  porpoise;  and 
the  French  ecrevisse  turns  up  a  crayfish  or  crawfish.  The 
transformations  of  the  latter  word,  which  has  passed 
through  three  languages  before  attaining  its  present  form, 
are  among  the  most  surprising  feats  of  verbal  legerde- 
main. Starting  on  its  career  as  the  old  High  German 
krebiz,  it  next  appears  in  English  as  crab,  and  in  German  as 
krebs,  or  "  crab,"  from  the  grabbing  or  clutching  action 
of  the  animal.  Next  it  crosses  the  Rhine,  and  becomes  the 


320  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

French  dcrevisse;  then  crosses  the  Channel,  and  takes  the 
form  of  krevys;  and,  last  of  all,  with  a  double  effort  at 
Anglicizing,  it  appears  in  modern  English  as  crawfish  or 
crayfish.  The  last  two  words  noticed  illustrate  the  ten- 
dency which  is  so  strong,  in  the  corruption  of  words,  to 
invent  new  forms  which  shall  be  appropriate  as  well  as 
significant,  other  examples  of  which  we  have  in  wormwood 
from  wermuth,  Ismthorn  from  laterna,  beefeater  from  buff- 
etier,  raikehell  from  racaille,  catchrogue  from  the  Norman- 
French  cachreau,  a  bum-bailiff,  and  shoot  for  chute,  a  fall  or 
rapid.  So  the  French,  beffroi,  a  stronghold  or  tower, —  a 
movable  tower  of  several  stories  used  in  besieging, —  has 
been  corrupted  into  belfry,  though  there  is  no  such  French 
word  as  bell. 

Often  the  corrupted  form  gives  birth  to  a  wholly  false 
explanation.  Thus  in  the  proverbial  dormir  comme  une 
taupe,  which  has  been  twisted  into  the  phrase  to  sleep  like  a 
top,  there  is  no  trace  of  the  mole ;  nor  in  Penny -come-quick, 
any  hint  of  Penne,  Coombe,  and  Ick,  the  former  name  for 
Falmouth.  The  corruption  of  Chateau  Vert  into  "Shot- 
over"  has  led  to  the  legend  that  Little  John  shot  over 
the  hill  of  that  name  near  Oxford,  England;  and  the  cor- 
ruption of  acheter,  to  buy,  into  achat, —  which  in  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries  was  in  London  the  word 
for  trading,  and  was  first  pronounced  and  then  written 
acat, —  led  to  the  story  that  Whittington,  the  famous  lord 
mayor,  obtained  his  wealth  by  selling  and  re-selling  a  cat. 
There  is  no  hint  in  somerset  of  its  derivation  from  the 
Italian,  soprasalto,  an  overleap,  through  the  French,  sobre- 
sault,  and  the  early  English,  "to  somersault'';  nor  would 
the  shrewdest  guesser  ever  discover  in  faire  un  faux  jxt*. 
to  commit  a  blunder,  the  provincial  saying,  to  imikc  <t 
fox's  paw. 


CURIOSITIES   OF   LANGUAGE.  321 

Among  the  most  frequent  corruptions  are  the  names 
of  places  and  persons.  Boulogne  Mouth  has  been  converted 
by  the  British  sailors  into  "Bull  and  Mouth";  and  Surajah 
Dowlah,  the  name  of  the  Bengal  prince  who  figured  in 
the  famous  Black  Hole  atrocity,  the  British  soldiers  per- 
sisted in  Anglicizing  into  "Sir  Roger  Dowlas!"  Bedlam 
is  a  corruption  of  Bethlehem,  and  gets  its  meaning  from 
a  London  priory,  St.  Mary's  of  Bethlehem,  which  was 
converted  into  a  lunatic  asylum.  Another  striking  illus- 
tration of  the  freaks  of  popular  usage  by  which  the  ety- 
mology of  words  is  obscured,  is  the  word  causeway.  Mr. 
W.  W.  Skeat,  in  a  late  number  of  "  Notes  and  Queries," 
states  that  the  old  spelling  of  the  word  was  calcies.  The 
Latin  was  calceata  via,  a  road  made  with  lime;  hence  the 
Spanish,  calzada,  a  paved  way,  and  the  modern  French, 
chaussee.  "  The  English  word,"  Mr.  Skeats  says,  "  used  to 
be  more  often  spelled  causey,  as  for  instance,  by  Cotgrave; 
and  popular  etymology,  always  on  the  alert  to  infuse  some 
sort  of  meaning  into  a  strange  word,  turned  causey  into 
causeway,  with  the  trifling  drawback  that,  while  we  all 
know  what  ivay  means,  no  one  can  extract  any  sense  out 
of  cause." 

Words  from  the  dead  languages  have  naturally  under- 
gone the  most  signal  corruptions,  many  of  them  completely 
disguising  the  derivation.  Sometimes  the  word  is  con- 
densed, as  in  alms,  from  the  Greek,  s^noaovrj,  in  early 
English,  almesse,  now  cut  down  to  four  letters;  summons, 
a  legal  term,  abbreviated  (like  the  fi.  fa.  of  the  lawyers), 
from  submoneas;  palsy,  an  abridgment  of  paralysis,  liter- 
ally a  relaxation;  quinsy,  in  French,  esquinancie,  which, 
strange  to  say,  is  the  same  word  as  synagogue,  coming, 
like  this  last,  from  am,  together,  and  ayta,  to  draw.  Megrim 
14* 


822  WORDS;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

is  a  corruption  of  hemicrany,  a  pain  affecting  half  of  the 
head.  Treacle,  now  applied  only  to  molasses  or  its  sirup, 
was  originally  viper's  flesh  made  into  a  medicine  for  the 
viper's  bite.  It  is  called  in  French,  thdriaque,  from  a  cor- 
responding Greek  word;  in  early  English,  triacle.  Zero 
is  a  contraction  of  the  Italian  zephiro,  a  zephyr,  a  breath  of 
air,  a  nothing.  Another  name  for  it  is  cipher,  from  the 
Arabic,  cifr,  empty. 

CONTRADICTORY   MEANINGS. 

Among  the  curious  phenomena  of  language  one  of  the 
most  singular  is  the  use  of  the  same  word  in  two  distinct 
senses,  directly  opposed  to  each  other.  Ideas  are  associated 
in  the  mind  not  only  by  resemblance  but  by  contrast;  and 
thus  the  same  root,  slightly  modified,  may  express  the 
most  opposite  meanings.  A  striking  example  of  this,  is 
the  word  fast,  which  is  full  of  contradictory  meanings.  A 
clock  is  called  "fast,"  when  it  goes  too  quickly;  but  a 
man  is  told  to  stand  "  fast,"  when  he  is  desired  to  stand 
still.  Men  "fast"  when  they  have  nothing  to  eat;  and 
they  eat  "fast"  after  a  long  abstinence.  "Fast"  men,  as 
we  have  already  seen,  are  apt  to  be  very  "  loose "  in  their 
habits.  When  "fast"  is  used  in  the  sense  of  "absti- 
nence," the  idea  may  be,  as  in  the  Latin,  abstineo,  hold- 
ing back  from  food;  or  the  word  may  come  from  the 
Gothic,  fastan,  "to  keep"  or  "observe," — that  is,  the  ordi- 
nance of  the  church. 

The  word  nervous  may  mean  either  possessing,  or  want- 
ing nerve.  A  "nervous"  writer  is  one  who  has  force  and 
energy;  a  nervous  man  is  one  who  is  weak,  sensitive  to 
trifles,  easily  excited.  The  word  post,  from  the  Latin 
positum,  "  placed,"  is  used  in  the  most  various  senses. 


CURIOSITIES   OF  LAHGUAGE.  323 

We  speak  of  a  jpos^-office,  of  post-haste,  of  j>os£-horses, 
and  of  post-ing  a  ledger.  The  contradiction  in  these 
meanings  is  more  apparent  than  real.  The  idea  of 
placing  is  common  to  them  all.  Before  the  invention  of 
railways,  letters  were  transmitted  from  place  to  place  (or 
post  to  post)  by  relays  of  horses  stationed  at  intervals, 
so  that  no  delay  might  occur.  The  "post "-office  used 
this  means  of  communication,  and  the  horses  were  said  to 
travel  "post "-haste.  To  "post"  a  ledger  is  to  place  or 
register  its  several  items. 

The  word  to  let  generally  means  to  permit;  but  in  the 
Bible,  in  Shakspsare,  and  in  legal  phraseology,  it  often 
has  the  very  opposite  meaning.  Thus  Hamlet  says,  "  I'll 
make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me,"  that  is,  interferes  with 
or  obstructs  me;  and  in  law-books  "without  let  or  hin- 
drance" is  a  phrase'  of  frequent  occurrence.  It  should 
be  remarked,  however,  that  to  let,  in  the  first  sense,  is 
from  the  Saxon,  laetan  •  in  the  second,  from  _  letjan. 
The  word  to  cleave  may  mean  either  to  adhere  to  closely, 
as  when  Cowper  says,  "Sophistry  cleaves  close  and  pro- 
tects sin's  rotten  trunk " ;  or  it  may  mean  to  split  or  to 
rend  asunder,  as  in  the  sentence,  "He  cleaved  the  stick 
at  one  blow."  According  to  Ma'tzner,  the  word  in  the 
first  sense  is  from  the  Anglo-Saxon,  cleofan,  clufan; 
in  the  last  sense,  it  is  from  clifan,  clifian.  The  word 
dear  has  the  two  meanings  of  "prized"  because  you  have 
it,  and  "  expensive "  because  you  want  it.  The  word  lee 
has  very  different  acceptations  in  fee-side  and  Zee-shore. 

The  word  mistaken  has  quite  opposite  meanings.  "  You 
are  mistaken "  may  mean  "  You  mistake,"  or  "  You  are 
misunderstood,"  or  "taken  for  somebody  else."  In  the 

line 

'•'•Mistaken  souls  that  dream  of  heaven," 


324  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

in  a  popular  hymn,  the  word  is  used,  of  course,  in  the 
former  sense.  The  adjective  mortal  means  both  "deadly" 
and  "liable  to  death."  Of  the  large  number  of  adjectives 
ending  in  "able"  or  "ible"  some  have  a  subjective  and 
others  an  objective  sense.  A  "  terrible "  sight  is  one  that 
is  able  to  inspire  terror;  but  a  "readable"  book  is  one 
which  you  can  read.  It  is  said  that  the  word  wit  is  used 
in  Pope's  "Essay  on  Criticism"  with  at  least  seven  dif- 
ferent meanings. 

The  prefixes  un  and  in  are  equivocal.  Commonly  they 
have  a  negative  force,  as  in  "  unnecessary,"  "  incomplete." 
But  sometimes,  both  in  verbs  and  adjectives,  they  have  a 
positive  or  intensive  meaning,  as  in  the  words  "  iwtense," 
"  mfatuated,"  "  invaluable."  To  "  invigorate  "  one's  phys- 
ical system  by  exercise,  is  not  to  lessen,  but  to  increase 
one's  energy.  The  verb  "unloose"  should,  by  analogy, 
signify  "  to  tie,"  just  as  untie  means  "  to  loose."  Tnhabit- 
able  should  signify  not  habitable,  according  to  the  most 
frequent  sense  of  in.  To  unravel  means  the  same  as  to 
ravel;  to  unrip,  the  same  as  to  rip.  Johnson  sanctions  the 
use  of  the  negative  prefix  in  these  two  words,  but  Rich- 
ardson and  Webster  condemn  it  as  superfluous.  Walton, 
in  his  "  Angler,"  tells  an  amusing  anecdote  touching  the 
two  words.  "  We  heard,"  he  says,  "  a  high  contention 
amongst  the  beggar?,  whether  it  was  easiest  to  rip  a  cloak 
or  unrip  a  cloak.  One  beggar  affirmed  it  was  all  one;  but 
that  was  denied,  by  asking  her,  if  doing  and  undoing  were 
all  one.  Then  another  said,  'twas  easiest  to  unrip  a  cloak, 
for  that  was  to  let  it  alone ;  but  she  was  answered  by  ask- 
ing how  she  could  unrip  it,  if  she  let  it  alone."  • 

This  opposition  in  the  meanings  of  a  word  is  a  phenom- 
enon not  altogether  peculiar  to  the  English  language.  In 


CURIOSITIES   OF    LANGUAGE.  325 

Greek,  ypzia  means  both  "  use  "  and  "  need,"  and  /.aw  means 
both  "to  wish''  and  ''to  take";  in  Latin,  unicus  implies 
singularity, —  unitas,  association.  Many  other  examples 
might  be  cited  to  show  that  "  as  rays  of  light  may  be 
reflected  and  refracted  in  all  possible  ways  from  their 
primary  direction,  so  the  meaning  of  a  word  may  be  de- 
flected from  its  original  bearing  in  a  variety  of  manners: 
and  consequently  we  cannot  well  reach  the  primitive  force 
of  the  term  unless  we  know  the  precise  gradations  through 
which  it  has  gone." 

Several  writers  on  our  language  have  noticed  a  singu- 
lar tendency  to  limit  or  narrow  the  signification  of  certain 
words,  whose  etymology  would  suggest  a  far  wider  appli- 
cation. Why  should  we  not  retaliate  (that  is,  pay  back  in 
kind,  res,  talis,)  kindnesses  as  well  as  injuries?  Why 
should  we  resent  (feel  again)  insults,  and  not  affectionate 
words  and  deeds?  Why  should  our  hate,  animosity,  hos- 
tility, and  other  bad  passions,  be  inveterate  (that  is,  gain 
strength  by  age),  but  our  better  feelings,  love,  kindness, 
charity,  never?  Byron  showed  a  true  appreciation  of  the 
better  uses  to  which  the  word  might  be  put,  when  he  sub- 
scribed a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  Yours  inveterately,  BYRON.*' 

In  some  of  our  nouns  there  is  a  nice  distinction  of 
meaning  between  the  singular  and  the  plural.  A  ruin  nit- 
is  a  fraction  of  time;  minutes  are  notes  of  a  speech,  con- 
versation, etc.  The  manner  in  which  a  man  enters  a  draw- 
ing-room may  be  unexceptionable,  while  his  manners  are 
very  bad.  When  the  "Confederates"  threatened  to  pull 
down  the  American  colors  at  New  Orleans,  they  did  it 
under  color  of  right.  A  person  was  once  asked  whether  a 
certain  lawyer  had  got  rich  by  his  practice?  "No,"  was 
the  sarcastic  reply,  "  but  by  his  practices." 


326  WOKDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH. 

In  words,  as  fashions,  the  same  rule  will  hold, 
Alike  fantastic  if  too  new  or  old; 
Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside.— POPE. 

If  a  gentleman  be  to  study  any  language,  it  ought  to  be  that  of  his  own 
country.— LOCKE. 

Aristocracy  and  exclusiveness  tend  to  final  overthrow,  in  language  as  well 
as  in  politics. — W.  D.  WHITNEY. 

A  tendency  to  slang,  to  colloquial  inelegancies,  and  even  vulgarities,  is  the 
besetting  sin  against  which  we,  as  Americans,  have  especially  to  guard  and 
to-  struggle.— IB. 

ONE  of  the  most  gratifying  signs  of  the  times  is  the 
deep  interest  which  both  our  scholars  and  our  people 
are  beginning  to  manifest  in  the  study  of  our  noble  English 
tongue.  Perhaps  nothing  has  contributed  more  to  awaken 
a  public  interest  in  this  matter,  and  to  call  attention  to 
some  of  the  commonest  improprieties  of  speech,  than  the 
publication  of  "The  Queen's  English"  and  "The  Dean's 
English,"  and  the  various  criticisms  which  have  been  pro- 
voked in  England  and  in  the  United  States  by  the  Moon- 
Alford  controversy.  Hundreds  of  persons  who  before  felt 
a  profound  indifference  to  this  subject,  have  had  occasion 
to  thank  the  Dean  for  awakening  their  curiosity  in  regard 
to  it;  and  hundreds  more  who  otherwise  would  never  have 
read  his  dogmatic  small-talk,  or  Mr.  Moon's  trenchant 
dissection  of  it,  have  suddenly  found  themselves,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  newspaper  criticisms  of  the  two  books, 
deeply  interested  in  questions  of  grammar,  and  now,  with 


COMMON   IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  327 

their  appetites  whetted,  will  continue  the  study  of  their 
own  language,  till  they  have  mastered  all  its  difficulties, 
and  familiarized  themselves  with  all  its  idioms  and  idiot- 
isms.  Of  such  discussions  we  can  hardly  have  too  many, 
and  just  now  they  are  imperiously  needed  to  check  the 
deluge  of  barbarisms,  solecisms,  and  improprieties,  with 
which  our  language  is  threatened.  Not  only  does  political 
freedom  make  every  man  in  America  an  inventor,  alike 
of  labor-saving  machines  and  of  labor-saving  words,  but 
the  mixture  of  nationalities  is  constantly  coining  and  ex- 
changing new  forms  of  speech,  of  which  our  busy  Bart- 
letts,  in  their  lists  of  Americanisms,  find  it  impossible  to 
keep  account. 

It  is  not  merely  our  spoken  language  that  is  dis- 
figured by  these  blemishes;  but  our  written  language, — 
the  prose  of  the  leading  English  authors, —  exhibits  more 
slovenliness  and  looseness  of  diction,  than  is  found  in  any 
other  literature.  That  this  is  due  in  part  to  the  very 
character  of  the  language  itself,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
Its  simplicity  of  structure  and  its  copiousness  both  tend 
to  prevent  its  being  used  with  accuracy  and  care;  and  it 
is  so  hospitable  to  alien  words  that  it  needs  more  power- 
ful securities  against  revolution  than  other  languages  of 
less  heterogeneous  composition.  But  the  chief  cause  must 
be  found  in  the  character  of  the  English-speaking  race. 
There  is  in  our  very  blood  a  certain  lawlessness,  which 
makes  us  intolerant  of  syntactical  rules,  and  restive  under 
pedagogical  restraints.  "Our  sturdy  English  ancestors," 
says  Blackstone,  "  held  it  beneath  the  condition  of  a  free- 
man to  appear,  or  to  do  any  other  act,  at  the  precise  time 
appointed."  The  same  proud,  independent  spirit  which 
made  the  Saxons  of  old  rebel  against  the  servitude  of 


328  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

punctuality,  prompts  their  descendants  to  spurn  the  yoke 
of  grammar  and  purism.  In  America  this  scorn  of  obe- 
dience, whether  to  political  authority  or  philological,  is 
fostered  and  intensified  by  the  very  genius  of  our  insti- 
tutions. We  seem  to  doubt  whether  we  are  entirely  free, 
unless  we  apply  the  Declaration  of  Independence  to  our 
language,  and  carry  the  Monroe  doctrine  even  into  our 
grammar. 

The  degree  to  which  this  lawlessness  has  been  carried 
will  be  seen  more  strikingly  if  we  compare  our  English 
literature  with  the  literature  of  France.  It  has  been 
justly  said  that  the  language  of  that  country  is  a  science 
in  itself,  and  the  labor  bestowed  on  the  acquisition  of  it 
has  the  effect  of  vividly  impressing  on  the  mind  both  the 
faults  and  the  beauties  of  every  writer's  style.  Method 
and  perspicuity  are  its  very  essence;  and  there  is  hardly 
a  writer  of  note  who  does  not  attend  to  these  requisites 
with  scrupulous  care.  Let  a  French  writer  of  distinction 
violate  any  cardinal  rule  of  grammar,  and  he  is  poumvil 
upon  instantly  by  the  critics,  and  laughed  at  from  Cnlai> 
to  Marseilles.  When  Boileau,  who  is  a  marvel  of  verbal 
and  grammatical  correctness,  made  a  slip  in  the  first  line 
of  his  Ninth  Satire, 

"  C'est  a  vous,  mon  Esprit,  a  qui  je  veux  parler," 

the  grammatical  sensibility  of  the  French  ear  was  shocked 
to  a  degree  that  we,  who  tolerate  the  grossest  solecisms. 
find  it  hard  to  estimate.  For  two  centuries  the  blunder 
has  been  quoted  by  every  writer  on  grammar,  and  im- 
pressed on  the  memory  of  every  schoolboy.  Indeed,  such 
is  the  national  fastidiousness  on  this  subject,  that  it  has 
been  doubted  whether  a  single  line  in  Boileau  has  been 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  329 

so  often  quoted  for  its  beauty,  as  this  unfortunate  one 
for  its  lack  of  grammar.  When  did  an  English  or  an 
American  writer  thus  offend  the  critical  ears  of  his  coun- 
trymen, even  though  he  were  an  Alison,  sinning  against 
Lindley  Murray  on  every  page? 

We  are  no  friend  to  hypercriticism,  or  to  that  finical 
niceness  which  cares  more  for  the  body  than  for  the  soul 
of  language,  more  for  the  outward  expression  than  for 
the  thought  which  it  incarnates.  It  is,  no  doubt,  possible 
to  be  so  over-nice  in  the  use  of  words  and  the  construc- 
tion of  sentences  as  to  sap  the  vitality  of  our  speech.  We 
may  so  refine  our  expression,  by  continual  straining  in  our 
critical  sieves,  as  to  impair  both  the  strength  and  the  flex- 
ibility of  our  noble  English  tongue.  There  are  some 
verbal  critics,  who,  apparently  go  so  far  as  to  hold  that 
every  word  must  have  an  invariable  meaning,  and  that 
all  relations  of  thoughts  must  be  indicated  by  absolute 
and  invariable  formulas,  thus  reducing  verbal  expression 
to  the  rigid  inflexibility  of  a  mathematical  equation.  If 
we  understand  Mr.  Moon's  censures  of  Murray  and  Alford, 
some  of  them  are  based  on  the  assumption  that  an  ellipsis 
is  rarely,  if  ever,  permissible  in  English  speech.  We  have 
no  sympathy  with  such  extremists,  nor  with  the  verbal 
piirists  who  challenge  all  words  and  phrases  that  cannot  be 
found  in  the  "  wells  of  English  undefiled,"  that  have  been 
open  for  more  than  a  hundred  years.  Language  is  a  living, 
organic  thing,  and  by  the  very  law  of  its  life  must  always 
be  in  a  fluctuating  state.  To  petrify  it  into  immutable 
forms,  to  preserve  it  as  one  preserves  fruits  and  flowers  in 
spirits  of  wine  and  herbariums,  is  as  impossible  as  it  would 
be  undesirable,  if  we  would  have  it  a  medium  for  the  ever- 
changing  thoughts  of  man. 


330  WORDS;    THEIR   USE   AND   ABUSE. 

Language  is  a  growing  thing,  as  truly  as  a  tree;  and 
as  a  tree,  while  it  casts  off  some  leaves,  will  continually 
put  forth  others,  so  a  language  will  be  perpetually  growing 
and  expanding  with  the  discoveries  of  science,  the  extension 
of  commerce,  and  the  progress  of  thought.  Every  age 
will  enrich  it  with  new  accessions  of  beauty  and  strength. 
Not  only  will  new  words  be  coined,  but  old  ones  will  con- 
tinually take  on  new  senses ;  and  it  is  only  in  the  transition 
period,  before  they  have  established  themselves  in  the  gen- 
eral favor  of  good  speakers  and  writers,  that  purity  of 
style  requires  them  to  be  shunned.  Those  who  are  so 
ignorant  of  the  laws  of  language  as  to  resist  its  expansion, 
who  declare  that  it  has  attained  at  any  time  the  limit  of 
its  development,  and  seek  by  philological  bulls  to  check  its 
growth, —  will  find  that,  like  a  vigorous  forest  tree,  it  will 
defy  any  shackles  that  men  may  bind  about  it;  that  it  will 
reck  as  little  of  their  decrees  as  did  the  advancing  ocean 
of  those  of  Canute.  The  critics  who  make  such  attempts 
do  not  see  that  the  immobility  of  language  would  be  the 
immobility  of  history.  They  forget  that  many  of  the 
purest  words  in  our  language  were  at  one  time  startling 
novelties,  and  that  even  the  dainty  terms  in  which  they 
challenge  each  new-comer,  though  now  naturalized,  had 
once  to  fight  their  way  inch  by  inch.  Shakspeare  ridicules 
"element";  Fulke,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  objects  to 
such  ink-horn  terms  as  "rational,"  "scandal,"  "homicide." 
"ponderous,"  and  "prodigious";  Dryden  censures  "embar- 
rass," "grimace,"  "repartee,"  "foible,"  "tour,"  and 
"rally";  Pope  condemns  "witless,"  "welkin,"  and  "dul- 
cet"; and  Franklin,  who  could  draw  from  the  clouds  the 
electric  fluid,  which  now  carries  language  with  the  speed  of 
lightning  from  land  to  land,  vainly  struggled  against  the 


COMMON   IMPKOPKIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  331 

introduction  of  the  verbs  "  to  advocate "  and  "  to  notice." 
The  little  word  "  its "  had  to  force  its  way  into  the  lan- 
guage, against  the  opposition  of  "correct"  speakers  and 
writers,  on  the  ground  of  its  apparent  analogy  with  the 
other  English  possessives. 

Dr.  Johnson  objected  to  the  word  dun  in  Lady  Macbeth's 
famous  soliloquy,  declaring  that  "  the  efficacy  of  this  invo- 
cation is  destroyed  by  the  insertion  of  an  epithet  now 
seldom  heard  but  in  the  stable: — " 

"  Come,  thick  night, 
And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell." 

It  was  a  notion  of  the  great  critic  and  lexicographer,  with 
which  his  mind  was  long  haunted,  that  the  language  should 
be  refined  and  fixed  so  as  finally  to  exclude  all  rustic  and 
vulgar  elements  from  the  authorized  vocabulary  of  the 
lettered  and  polite.  Dryden  had  hinted  at  the  establish- 
ment of  an  academy  for  this  purpose,  and  Swift  thought 
the  Government  "  should  devise  some  means  for  ascertain- 
ing and  fixing  the  language  forever"  after  the  necessary 
alterations  should  be  made  in  it. 

If  it  were  possible  to  exclude  needed  new  words  from  a 
language,  the  French  Academy  would  have  succeeded  in 
its  attempts  to  do  so,  consisting  as  it  did  of  the  chief 
scholars  of  France.  But  in  spite  of  all  its  efforts  to  exer- 
cise a  despotic  authority  over  the  French  tongue,  new 
words  have  continually  forced  their  way  in,  and  so  they 
will  continue  to  do  while  the  French  nation  maintains  its 
vitality,  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  all  the  purists  and 
academicians  in  France.  "They  that  will  fight  custom 
with  grammar,"  says  Montaigne,  "are  fools";  and,  with 
the  limitations  to  be  hereafter  stated,  the  remark  is  just, 


332  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

and  still  more  true  of  those  who  triumphantly  appeal 
against  custom  to  the  dictionary. 

Even  slang  words,  after  long  knocking,  will  often  gain 
admission  into  a  language,  like  pardoned  outlaws  received 
into  the  body  of  respectable  citizens.  We  need  not  add  to 
these  words  coined  in  his  lofty  moods  by  the  poet,  who  is  a 
maker  by  the  very  right  of  his  name.  That  creative 
energy  which  distinguishes  him, —  "the  high-flying  liberty 
of  conceit  proper  to  the  poet," — will,  of  course,  display 
itself  here,  and  the  all-fusing  imagination  will  at  once,  as 
Trench  has  remarked,  suggest  and  justify  audacities  in 
speech  which  would  not  be  tolerated  from  creeping  prose- 
writers.  Great  liberties  may  be  allowed,  too,  within 
certain  bounds,  to  the  idiosyncracies  of  all  great  writers. 
We  love  the  rugged,  gnarled  oak,  with  the  grotesque  con- 
tortions of  its  branches,  better  than  the  smoothly  clipped 
uniformity  of  the  Dutch  ewe  tree.  Carlyleisms  may  there- 
fore be  tolerated  from  the  master,  though  not  from  the 
umbrae  that  spaniel  him  at  the  heels,  and  feebly  echo  his 
singularities  and  oddities.  A  style  that  has  no  smack  or 
flavor  of  the  man  that  uses  it,  is  a  tasteless  style.  But 
there  is  a  limit  even  to  the  liberty  of  great  thinkers  in 
coining  words.  It  must  not  degenerate  into  license.  Cole- 
ridge was  a  skillful  mint-master  of  words,  yet  not  all  his 
genius  can  reconcile  us  to  such  expressions  as  the  following 
in  a  letter  to  Sir  Humphrey  Davy:  "  I  was  a  well-meaning 
sutor  who  had  ultra-crepidated  with  more  zeal  than 
wisdom." 

No  one  would  hesitate  to  place  Isaac  Barrow  among  the 
greatest  masters  of  the  English  tongue;  yet  the  weighty 
thoughts  which  his  words  represented,  did  not  prevent 
many  of  the  trial  pieces  *vhich  he  coined  in  his  verbal  mint 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  333 

from  being  returned  on  his  hands.  Who  knows  the  mean- 
ing of  such  words  as  "avoce,"  "acquist,"  "extund"?  Sir 
Thomas  Browne  abounds  in  such  hyperlatinistic  expressions 
as  "bivious,"  "  quodlibetically,"  "  cunctation,"  to  which 
even  his  gorgeous  rhetoric  does  not  reconcile  the  reader. 
Charles  Lamb  has  "agnise"  and  "bourgeon."  Sydney 
Smith  was  continually  coining  words,  some  of  them  com- 
pounds from  the  homely  Saxon  idiom,  others  big-wig  clas- 
sical epithets,  devised  with  scholar-like  precision,  and 
exceedingly  ludicrous  in  their  effect.  Thus  he  speaks  of 
"  frugiverous "  children,  of  "  mastigophorous "  schoolmas- 
ters," of  "fugacious"  or  " plumigerous "  captains;  of 
"lachrymal  and  suspirious  clergymen";  of  people  who  are 
"  sinious,"  and  people  who  are  "  anserous  " ;  he  enriches  the 
language  with  the  expressive  hybrid,  "  Foolometer " ;  and 
he  characterizes  the  Septembers  sins  of  the  English  by  the 
awful  name  of  "  perdricide."  In  the  early  ages  of  our 
literature,  when  the  language  was  less  fixed,  and  there  were 
few  recognized  standards  of  expression,  writers  coined 
words  without  license,  supplying  the  place  of  correct  terms, 
when  they  did  not  occur  to  their  minds,  by  analogy  and 
invention.  But  a  bill  must  not  only  be  drawn  by  the  word- 
maker;  it  must  also  be  accepted.  The  Emperor  Tiberius 
was  very  properly  told  that  he  might  give  citizenship  to 
'men,  but  not  to  words.  All  innovations  in  speech,  every 
new  term  introduced,  should  harmonize  with  the  general 
principles  of  the  language.  No  new  phrase  should  be 
admitted  which  is  not  consonant  with  its  peculiar  genius, 
or  which  does  violence  to  its  fundamental  integrity.  Nor 
should  any  form  of  expression  be  tolerated  that  violates 
the  universal  laws  of  language. 

Even  good  usage  itself  is  but.a  proximate  and  strongly 


334  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

presumptive  test  of  purity.  Custom  is  not  an  absolute 
despotism,  though  it  approaches  very  nearly  to  that  char- 
acter. Its  decisions  are  generally  authoritative;  but.  as 
there  are  extreme  measures  which  even  oriental  despots 
cannot  put  into  execution  without  endangering  the  safety 
of  their  possessions,  so  there  are  things  which  custom  can- 
not do  without  endangering  the  fixity  and  purity  of  lan- 
guage. If  grammatical  monstrosities  exist  in  a  language, 
a  correct  taste  will  shun  them,  as  it  does  physical  deform- 
ities in  the  arts  of  design.  Dean  Alford  defends  some 
of  his  own  indefensible  expressions  by  citing  the  author- 
ity of  the  Scripture;  but  authority  for  the  most  vicious 
forms  of  speech  can  be  found  in  all  our  writers,  not  ex- 
cepting King  James's  translators, —  as  Mr.  Harrison  has 
shown  by  hundreds  of  examples  in  his  work  on  "  The 
English  Language."  A  writer  in  "  Blackwood "  affirms 
that,  "  with  the  exception  of  Wordsworth,  there  is  not  one 
celebrated  author  of  this  day  who  has  written  two  pages 
consecutively  without  some  flagrant  impropriety  in  the 
grammar";  and  the  statement,  we  believe,  is  xmder- 
charged.  The  usage,  therefore,  of  a  good  writer  is  only 
prima  facie  evidence  of  the  correctness  of  a  disputed  word 
or  phrase;  for  he  may  have  used  the  word  carelessly  or 
inadvertently,  and  it  is  altogether  probable  that,  were  his 
attention  called  to  it,  he  would  be  prompt  to  admit  his" 
error.  It  has  been  remarked  that  "  nowadays  "  and  "  had 
have"  meet  all  the  conditions  of  good  usage,  being  rep- 
utable, national  and  present;  but  one  is  a  solecism,  the 
other  a  barbarism.  Let  the  English  language  be  enriched 
in  the  spirit,  and  according  to  the  principles  of  which  we 
have  spoken,  and  it  will  be,  as  one  has  well  said,  a  living 
fountain,  casting  out  everything  effete  and  impure,  re- 


COMMOX    IMPROPRIETIES    OF   SPEECH.  335 

freshed  by  new  sources  of  inspiration  and  wealth,  keep- 
ing pace  with  the  stately  march  of  the  ages,  and  still 
retaining  much  of  its  original  sweetness,  expression  and 
force. 

It  is  our  intention  in  this  chapter,  not  to  notice  all  the 
improprieties  of  speech  that  merit  censure, —  to  do  which 
would  require  volumes, —  but  to  criticise  some  of  those 
which  most  frequently  ofiend  the  ear  of  the  scholar  in  this 
country.  The  term  impropriety  we  shall  use,  not  merely 
in  the  strictly  rhetorical  sense  of  the  word,  but  in  the  pop- 
ular meaning,  to  include  in  it  all  inaccuracies  of  speech, 
whether  offences  against  etymology,  lexicography  or  syn- 
tax. To  pillory  such  oifenses,  to  point  out  the  damage 
which  they  inflict  upon  our  language,  and  to  expose  the 
moral  obliquity  which  often  lurks  beneath  them,  is,  we 
believe,  the  duty  of  every  scholar  who  knows  how  closely 
purity  of  speech,  like  personal  cleanliness,  is  allied  to 
purity  of  thought  and  rectitude  of  action.  To  say  that 
every  person  who  aspires  to  be  esteemed  a  gentleman 
should  carefully  shun  all  barbarisms,  solecisms,  and  other 
faults  in  his  speech,  is  to  utter  the  merest  truism.  An 
accurate  knowledge,  and  a  correct  and  felicitous  use  of 
words,  are,  of  themselves,  almost  sure  proofs  of  good 
breeding.  No  doubt  it  marks  a  weak  mind  to  care  more 
for  the  casket  than  for  the  jewel  it  contains, —  to  prefer  ele- 
gantly turned  sentences  to  sound  sense;  but  sound  sense 
always  acquires  additional  value  when  expressed  in  pure 
English.  Few  things  are  more  ludicrous  than  the  blun- 
ders by  which  even  persons  moving  in  refined  society  often 
betray  the  grossest  ignorance  of  very  common  words. 
There  are  hundreds  of  educated  people  who  speak  of  the 
banister  of  a  staircase,  when  they  mean  balustrade  or 


336  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

baluster;  there  is  no  such  word  as  banister.  There  are 
hundreds  of  others  who  never  eat  anything,  not  even  an 
apple,  but  always  partake,  even  though  they  consume  all 
the  food  before  them;  and  even  the  London  "Times,"  in 
one  of  its  issues,  spoke  of  a  jury  "immersing"  a  defendant 
in  damages.  We  once  knew  an  old  lady  in  a  New  England 
village,  quite  aristocratic  in  her  feelings  and  habits,  who 
complained  to  her  physician  that  "her  blood  seemed  to 
have  all  stackpoled" ;  and  we  have  heard  of  another  de- 
scendant of  Mrs.  Malaprop,  who,  in  answer  to  the  question 
whether  she  would  be  sure  to  keep  an  appointment,  replied, 
"I  will  come, —  alluding  it  does  not  rain." 

Goldsmith  is  one  of  the  most  charming  writers  in  our 
language;  yet  in  his  "History  of  England,"  the  following 
statement  occurs  in  a  chapter  on  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 
Speaking  of  a  communication  to  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  he 
says :  "  This  they  effected  by  conveying  their  letters  to  her 
by  means  of  a  brewer,  that  supplied  the  family  tcith  ale 
through  a  chink  in  the  wall  of  her  apartment."  A  queer 
brewer  that,  to  supply  his  ale  through  a  chink  in  the  wall ! 
Again,  we  read,  in  Goldsmith's  "  History  of  Greece  " :  "  He 
wrote  to  that  distinguished  philosopher  in  terms  polite  and 
flattering,  begging'  of  him  to  come  and  undertake  his 
education,  and  bestow  on  him  those  useful  lessons  of  mag- 
nanimity and  virtue  which  every  great  man  ought  to 
possess,  and  which  his  numerous  avocations  rendered  im- 
possible for  him."  In  this  sentence  the  pronoun  he  is 
employed  six  times,  under  different  forms;  and  as,  in  each 
case,  it  may  refer  to  either  of  two  antecedents,  the  mean- 
ing, but  for  our  knowledge  of  the  facts,  would  be  involved 
in  hopeless  confusion.  First,  the  pronoun  stands  for  Philip, 
then  for  Aristotle,  then  for  Alexander,  again  for  Alexander, 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  337 

and  then  twice  for  Philip.  A  still  greater  offender 
against  clearness  in  the  use  of  pronouns  is  Lord  Claren- 
don; e.  g.,  "On  which,  with  the  king's  and  queen's  so  ample 
promises  to  him  (the  Treasurer)  so  few  hours  before,  con- 
ferring the  place  upon  another,  and  the  Duke  of  York's 
manner  of  receiving  him  (the  Treasurer)  after  he  (the 
Chancellor)  had  been  shut  up'with  him  (the  Duke),  as  he 
(the  Treasurer)  was  informed  might  very  well  excuse  him 
(the  Treasurer)  from  thinking  he  (the  Chancellor)  had  some 
share  in  the  effront  he  (the  Treasurer)  had  undergone."  It 
would  be  hard  to  match  this  passage  even  in  the  writ- 
ings of  the  humblest  penny-a-liner;  it  is  "confusion  worse 
confounded." 

Solecisms  so  glaring  as  these  may  not  often  disfigure 
men's  writing  or  speech;  and  some  of  the  faults  we  shall 
notice  may  seem  so  petty  and  microscopic  that  the  reader 
may  deem  us  "  word-catchers  that  live  on  syllables."  But 
it  is  the  little  foxes  that  spoil  the  grapes,  in  the  familiar 
speech  of  the  people  as  well  as  in  Solomon's  vineyards; 
and,  as  a  garment  may  be  honey-combed  by  moths,  so  the 
fine  texture  of  a  language  may  be  gradually  destroyed,  and 
its  strength  impaired,  by  numerous  and  apparently  insig- 
nificant solecisms  and  inaccuracies.  Nicety  in  the  use  of 
particles  is  one  of  the  most  decisive  marks  of  skill  and 
scholarship  in  a  writer;  and  the  accuracy,  beauty,  and 
force  of  many  a  fine  passage  in  English  literature  depend 
largely  on  the  use  of  the  pronouns,  prepositions,  and  arti- 
cles. How  emphatic  and  touching  does  the  following  enu- 
meration become  through  the  repetition  of  one  petty  word! 
"By  thine  agony  and  bloody  sweat;  by  thy  cross  and  pas- 
sion; by  thy  precious  death  and  burial;  by  thy  glorious 
resurrection  and  ascension;  and  by  the  coming  of  the 
15 


338  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Holy  Ghost."  How  much  pathos  is  added  to  the  prayer 
of  the  publican  by  the  proper  translation  of  the  Greek 
article,-^ "  God  be  merciful  to  me  the  sinner." 

De  Quincey  strikingly  observes:  "People  that  have 
practiced  composition  as  much,  and  with  as  vigilant  an 
eye  as  myself,  know  also,  by  thousand  of  cases,  how  infi- 
nite is  the  disturbance  caused  in  the  logic  of  a  thought 
by  the  mere  position  of  a  word  as  despicable  as  the  word 
even.  A  mote  that  is  in  itself  invisible,  shall  darken  the 
august  faculty  of  sight  in  a  human  eye, —  the  heavens  shall 
be  hid  by  a  wretched  atom  that  dares  not  show  itself, —  and 
the  station  of  a  syllable  shall  cloud  the  judgment  of  a 
council.  Nay,  even  an  ambiguous  emphasis  falling  to  the 
right-hand  word,  or  the  left-hand  word,  shall  confound  a 
system."  It  is  a  fact  well  known  to  lawyers,  that  the  omis- 
sion or  misplacement  of  a  monosyllable  in  a  legal  document 
has  rendered  many  a  man  bankrupt.  Four  years  ago  an 
expensive  lawsuit  arose  in  England,  on  the  meaning  of 
two  phrases  in  the  will  of  a  deceased  nobleman.  In  the 
one  he  gives  his  property  "  to  my  brother  and  to  his  chil- 
dren in,  succession;"  in  the  other,  "to  my  brother  and  his 
children  in  succession."  This  diversity  gives  rise  to  quite 
different  interpretations. 

In  language,  as  in  the  fine  arts,  there  is  but  one  way 
to  attain  to  excellence,  and  that  is  by  study  of  the  most 
faultless  models.  As  the  air  and  manner  of  a  gentleman 
can  be  acquired  only  by  living  constantly  in  good  society, 
so  grace  and  purity  of  expression  must  be  attained  by  a 
familiar  acquaintance  with  the  standard  authors.  It  is 
astonishing  how  rapidly  we  may  by  this  practice  enrich 
our  vocabularies,  and  how  speedily  we«imitate  and  un- 
consciously reproduce  in  our  language  the  niceties  and 


COMMOX    IMPROPRIETIES    OF   SPEECH.  339 

delicacies  of  expression  which  have  charmed  us  in  a  favor- 
ite author.  Like  the  sheriff  whom  Rufus  Choate  satirized 
for  having  "overworked  the  participle,"  most  persons 
make  one  word  act  two,  ten  or  a  dozen  parts;  yet  there 
is  hardly  any  man  who  may  not,  by  moderate  painstaking, 
learn  to  express  himself  in  terms  as  precise,  if  not  as  vivid, 
as  those  of  Pitt,  whom  Fox  so  praised  for  his  accuracy.* 
The  account  which  Lord  Chesterfield  gives  of  the  method 
by  which  he  became  one  of  the  most  elegant  and  polished 
talkers  and  orators  of  Europe,  strikingly  shows  what 
miracles  may  be  achieved  by  care  and  practice.  Early  in 
life  he  determined  not  to  speak  one  word  in  conversation 
which  was  not  the  fittest  he  could  recall;  and  he  charged 
his  son  never  to  deliver  the  commonest  order  to  a  servant, 
"but  in  the  best  language  he  could  find,  and  with  the 
best  utterance."  For  years  he  wrote  down  every  brilliant 
passage  he  met  with  in  his  1'eading,  and  translated  it  into 
French,  or,  if  it  was  in  a  foreign  language,  into  English. 
By  this  practice  a  certain  elegance  became  habitual  to  him, 
and  it  would  have  given  him  more  trouble,  he  says,  to 
express  himself  inelegantly  than  he  had  ever  taken  to  avoid 
the  defect.  Lord  Bolingbroke,  who  had  an  imperial  domin- 
ion over  all  the  resources  of  expression,  and  could  talk  all 
day  just  as  perfectly  as  he  wrote,  told' Chesterfield  tjiat  he 
owed  the  power  to  the  same  cause,- — an  early  and  habit- 
ual attention  to  his  style.  When  Boswell  expressed  to 
Johnson  his  surprise  at  the  constant  force  and  propriety 
of  the  Doctor's  words,  the  latter  replied  that  he  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  clothe  his  thoughts  in  the  fittest  words 
he  could  command,  and  thus  a  vivid  and  exact  phrase- 
ology had  become  habitual. 

*  See  page  29, 


340  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABTSI:. 

It  has  been  affirmed  by  a  high  authority  that  a  knowl- 
edge of  English  grammar  is  rather  a  matter  of  conven- 
ience as  a  nomenclature, —  a  medium  of  thought  and 
discussion  about  the  language, —  than  a  guide  to  the 
actual  use  of  it;  and  that  it  is  as  impossible  to  acquire 
the  complete  command  of  our  own  tongue  by  the  study 
of  grammatical  precept,  as  to  learn  to  walk  or  swim  by 
attending  a  course  of  lectures  'on  anatomy.  "  Undoubtedly 
I  have  found,"  says  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  "  in  divers  smal 
learned  courtiers  a  more  sound  stile  than  in  some  pos- 
sessors of  learning;  of  which  I  can  ghesse  no  other  cause, 
but  that  the  courtier  following  that 'which  by  practice  he 
findeth  fittest  to  nature,  therein  (though  he  know  it  not) 
doth  according  to  art,  though  not  by  art;  where  the  other, 
using  art  to  shew  art,  and  not  to  hide  art,  (as  in  these 
cases  he  should  doe,)  flieth  from  nature,  and  indeed  abuseth 
art." 

Let  it  not  be  inferred,  however,  from  all  this  that 
grammatical  knowledge  is  unnecessary.  A  man  of  refined 
taste  may  detect  many  errors  by  the  ear;  but  there  are 
other  errors,  equally  gross,  that  have  not  a  harsh  sound, 
and  consequently  cannot  be  detected  without  a  knowledge 
of  the  rules  that  are  violated.  Besides,  it  often  happens 
that  even  the  purest  writers  inadvertently  allow  some  in- 
accuracies to  creep  into  their  productions.  The  works  of 
Addison,  Swift,  Bentley,  Pope,  Young,  Blair,  Hume,  Gibbon, 
and  even  Johnson,  that  leviathan  of  literature,  are  dis- 
figured by  numberless  instances  of  slovenliness  of  style. 
Cobbett,  in  his  "  Grammar  of  the  English  Language,"  says 
that  he  noted  down  about  two  hundred  improprieties  of 
language  in  Johnson's  "  Lives  of  the  Poets "  alone ;  and  he 
points  out  as  many  more,  at  least,  in  the  "  Rambler,"  which 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES    OF   SPEECH.  341 

the  author  says  he  revised  and  corrected  with  extraordinary 
care.  Sydney  Smith,  one  of  the  finest  stylists  of  this 
century,  has  not  a  few  flagrant  solecisms;  and,  strange  to 
say,  some  of  them  occur  in  a  passage  in  which  he  is  trying 
to  show  that  the  English  language  "may  be  learned, 
practically  and  unerringly^  without  a  knowledge  of  gram- 
matical rules.  "When,"  he  asks,  "do  we  ever  find  a 
well-educated  Englishman  or  Frenchman  embarrassed  by 
an  ignorance  of  the  grammar  of  their  respective  languages? 
They  first  learn  it  practically  and  unerringly;  and  then, 
if  they  chose  (choose?)  to  look  back,  and  smile  at  the  idea 
of  having  proceeded  by  a  number  of  rules,  without  know- 
ing one  of  them  by  heart,  or  being  conscious  that  they  had 
any  rule  at  all,  this  is  a  philosophical  amusement;  but  who 
ever  thinks  of  learning  the  grammar  of  their  own  tongue, 
before  they  are  very  good  grammarians!"  The  best  refu- 
tation of  the  reasoning  in  this  passage  is  found  in  the  bad 
grammar  of  the  passage  itself. 

Even  the  literary  detectives,  who  spend  their  time  in 
hunting  down  and  showing  up  the  mistakes  of  others, 
enjoy  no  immunity  from  error.  Harrison,  in  his  excellent 
work  on  "  The  English  Language,"  written  expressly  to 
point  out  some  of  the  most  prevalent  solecisms  in  its 
literature,  has  such  solecisms  as  the  following:  "The 
authority  of  Addison,  in  matters  of  grammar;  of  Bentley, 
who  never  made  the  English  grammar  his  study;  of 
Bolingbroke,  Pope,  and  others,  are  as  nothing."  Breen, 
who  in  his  "Modern  English  Literature:  its  Blemishes 
and  Defects,"  has  shown  uncommon  critical  acumen,  writes 
thus :  "  There  is  no  writer  so  addicted  to  this  blunder  as 
Isaac  D'Israeli.".  Again,  in  criticising  a  faulty  expression 
of  Alison,  he  sins  almost  as  grievously  himself  by  saying: 


342  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

"It  would  have  been  correct  to  say:  'Suchet's  adminis- 
tration was  incomparably  less  oppressive  than  that  of 
any  of  the  French  generals  in  the  Peninsula.'  "  This  re- 
minds one  of  the  statement  that  "  Noah  and  his  family 
outlived  all  who  lived  before  the  flood," — that  is,  they 
outlived  themselves.  Latham,  in  his  profound  treatise  on 
"The  English  Language,"  has  such  sentences  as  this: 
"  The  logical  and  historical  analysis  of  a  language  gener- 
ally in  some  degree  coincides"  Here  the  syntax  is  correct; 
but  the  sense  is  sacrificed,  since  a  coincidence  implies,  at 
least,  two  things.  Blair's  "Rhetoric"  has  been  used  as  a 
text-book  for  half  a  century;  yet  it  swarms  with  errors  of 
grammar  and  rhetoric,  against  almost  every  law  of  which 
he  has  sinned.  Moon,  in  his  review  of  Alford,  has  pointed 
out  hundreds  of  faults  in  "  The  Dean's  English  "  as  censur- 
able as  any  which  he  has  censured;  and  newspaper  critics. 
at  home  and  abroad,  have  pointed  out  scores  of  obscura- 
tions, as  well  as  of  glaring  faults,  in  Moon. 

We  proceed  to  notice  some  of  the  common  improprieties 
of  speech.  Many  of  them  are  of  recent  origin,  others  are 
old  offenders  that  have  been  tried  and  condemned  at  the 
bar  of  criticism  again  and  again :  — 

But,  for  that,  or  if.  Example:  "I  have  no  doubt  but 
he  will  come  to-night."  "  I  should  not  wonder  but  that 
was  the  case." 

Agriculturalist,  for  agriculturist,  is  an  impropriety  of 
the  grossest  sort.  Nine-tenths  of  our  writers  on  agri- 
culture use  the  former  expression.  They  might  as  well  say 
geologicalist,  instead  of  geologist,  or  chemicalist,  instead 
of  chemist. 

Deduction,  for  induction.     Induction  is  the  mental  pro- 
cess by  which  we  ascend  to  the  discovery  of  general  truths; 


COMMON*   IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEEC^.  343 

deduction  is  the  process  by  which  the  law  governing  par- 
ticulars is  derived  from  a  knowledge  of  the  law  governing 
the  class  to  which  particulars  belong. 

Illy  is  a  gross  barbarism,  quite  common  in  these  days, 
especially  with  newly  fledged  poets.  There  is  no  such  word 
as  illy  in  the  language,  and  it  is  very  silly  to  use  it.  The 
noun,  adjective,  and  adverb,  are  ///. 

Plenty,  for  plentiful.  Stump  politicians  tell  us  that  the 
adoption  of  a  certain  measure  "  will  make  money  plenty  in 
every  man's  pocket." 

/  have  got,  for  I  have.  Hardly  any  other  word  in  the 
language  is  so  abused  as  the  word  get.  A  man  says,  "I 
have  got  a  cold";  he  means  simply,  "I  have  a  cold." 
Another  says  that  a  certain  lady  "has  got  a  fine  head  of 
hair,"  which  may  be  true  if  the  hair  is  false,  but  is  proba- 
bly intended  as  a  compliment.  A  third  says:  "I  have  got 
to  leave  the  city  for  New  York  this  evening,"  meaning  only 
that  he  has  to  leave  the  city,  etc.  Nine  out  of  ten  ladies 
who  enter  a  dry-goods  store,  ask,  "Have  you  got"  such 
or  such  an  article?  If  euch  a  phrase  as  "I  have  possess" 
were  used,  all  noses  would  turn  up  together;  but  "I  have 
got,"  when  used  to  signify  "  I  have,"  is  equally  a  departure 
from  propriety.  A  man  may  say,  "  I  have  got  more  than 
my  neighbor  has,  because  I  have  been  more  industrious " ; 
but  he  cannot  with  propriety  say,  "I  have  got  a  long 
nose."  however  long  his  nose  may  be,  unless  it  be  an  arti- 
ficial one.  Even  so  able  a  writer  as  Prof.  Whitney  ex- 
presses himself  thus:  "Who  ever  yet  got  through  learning 
his  mother  tongue,  and  could  say,  '  The  work  is  done?' ' 

Recommend.  This  word  is  used  in  a  strange  sense  by 
many  persons.  Political  conventions  often  pass  resolutions 


344  WORDS;   THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

beginning  thus:  "Resolved,  that  the  Republicans  (or  Dem- 
ocrats) of  this  county  be  recommended  to  meet,"  etc. 

Differ  with  is  often  used,  in  public  debate,  instead  of 
differ  from.  Example:  "I  differ  with  the  learned  gentle- 
man, entirely," — which  is  intended  to  mean,  that  the 
speaker  holds  views  different  from  thos.e  of  the  gentleman; 
not  that  he  agrees  with  the  gentleman  in  differing  from  the 
views  of  a  third  person.  Different  to  is  often  spoken 
and  written  in  England,  and  occasionally  in  this  country, 
instead  of  different  from.  An  example  of  this  occurs 
in  Queen  Victoria's  book,  edited  by  Mr.  Helps. 

Corporeal,  for  corporal,  is  a  gross  vulgarism,  the  use  of 
which  at  this  day  should  almost  subject  an  educated  man 
to  the  kind  of  punishment  which  the  latter  adjective  des- 
ignates. Corporeal  means,  having  a  body  corporal,  or 
belonging  to  a  body. 

Wearies,  for  is  wearied.  Example:  "The  reader  soon 
wearies  of  such  stuff." 

Any  hoiv  is  an  exceedingly  vulgar  phrase,  though  used 
even  by  so  elegant  a  writer  as  Blair.  Example:  "If  the 
damage  can  be  any  how  repaired,"  etc.  The  use  of  this 
expression,  in  any  manner,  by  one  who  professes  to  write 
and  speak  the  English  tongue  with  purity,  is  unpardonable. 

It  were,  for  it  is.  Example:  "It  were  a  consummation 
devoutly  to  be  wished  for."  Dr.  Chalmers  says:  "It  were 
an  intolerable  spectacle,  even  to  the  inmates  of  a  felon's 
cell,  did  they  behold  one  of  their  fellows  in  the  agonies  of 
death."  For  were  put  would  be,  and  for  did  put  should. 

Doubt  is  a  word  much  abused  by  a  class  of  would-be 
laconic  speakers,  who  affect  an  Abernethy-like  brevity  of 
language.  "I  doubt  such  is  the  true  meaning  of  the 


COM3TON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  845 

Constitution,''  say  our  "  great  expounders,"  looking  won- 
drous wise.  They  mean,  "  I  doubt  whether,"  etc. 

Lie,  lay.  Gross  blunders  are  committed  in  the  use  of 
these  words;  e.  g.,  "He  laid  down  on  the  grass,"  instead 
of  "he  laid  himself  down,"  or,  "he  lay  down."  The 
verb  to  lie  (to  be  in  a  horizontal  position)  is  lay  in  the 
preterite.  The  book  does  not  lay  on  the  table;  it  I  if* 
there.  Some  years  ago  an  old  lady  consulted  an  eccentric 
Boston  physician,  and,  in  describing  her  disease,  said: 
"The  trouble, •  Doctor,  is  that  I  can  neither  lay  nor  set." 
"Then,  Madam,"  was  the  reply,  "I  would  respectfully  sug- 
gest the  propriety  of  roosting." 

"  Like  I  did,"  is  a  gross  Western  and  Southern  vul- 
garism for  "as  I  did."  "You  will  feel  like  lightning  ought 
to  strike  you,"  said  a  learned  Doctor  of  Divinity  at  a 
meeting  in  the  East.  Like  is  a  preposition,  and  should 
not  be  used  as  a  conjunction. 

Less,  for  fewer.  "Not  less  than  fifty  persons."  Less 
relates  to  quantity;  feicer,  to  number. 

Hi/Jnurt'.  for  remainder.  "  I'll  take  the  balance  of  the 
goods." 

Hcrolt,  for  are  revolting  to.  "  Such  doctrines  revolt 
us." 

Alone,  for  only.  Quackenboss,  in  his  "Course  of  Com- 
position and  Rhetoric,"  says,  in  violation  of  one  of  his 
own  rules:  "This  means  of  communication,  as  well  as 
that  which  follows,  is  employed  by  man  alone."  Only  is 
often  misplaced  in  a  sentence.  Miss  Braddon  says,  in  the 
prospectus  of  "  Belgravia,"  her  English  magazine,  that 
"it  will  be  written  in  good  English.  In  its  pages  papers 
of  sibling  merit  will  only  appear."  A  poor  beginning 
this !  She  means  that  "  only  papers  of  sterling  merit  will 
15* 


346  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABtisE. 

appear."  Bolingbroke  says:  "Believe  me,  the  providence 
of  God  has  established  such  an  order  in  the  world,  that, 
of  all  that  belongs  to  us,  the  least  valuable  parts  can  alone 
fall  under  the  will  of  others."  The  last  clause  should  be, 
"  only  the  least  valuable  parts  can  fall  under  the  will  of 
others."  The  word  merely  is  misplaced  in  the  following 
sentence  from  a  collegiate  address  on  eloquence:  "It  is 
true  of  men  as  of  God,  that  words  merely  meet  no  re- 
sponse,—  only  such  as  are  loaded  with  thought." 

Likewise,  for  also.  Also  classes  together  things  or 
qualities,  whilst  liketvise  couples  actions  or  states  of 
being.  "  He  did  it  likewise,"  means  he  did  it  in  like  man- 
ner. An  English  Quaker  was  once  asked  by  a  lawyer 
whether  he  could  tell  the  difference  between  also  and 
likewise.  "0,  yes,"  was  the  reply,  "Erskine  is  a  great 
lawyer;  his  talents  are  universally  admired.  You  are  a 
lawyer  also,  but  not  -like-wise." 

Avocation,  for  vocation,  or  calling.  A  man's  avocations 
are  those  pursuits  or  amusements  which  engage  his  atten- 
tion when  he  is  "  called  away  from "  his  regular  business 
or  profession, —  as  music,  fishing,  boating. 

Crushed  out,  for  crushed.  "The  rebellion  has  been 
crushed  out."  Why  out,  rather  than  in?  If  you  tread 
on  a  worm,  you  simply  crush  him, —  that  is  all.  It  ought 
to  satisfy  the  most  vengeful  foe  of  "the  rebels"  that 
they  have  been  crushed,  without  adding  the  needless  cru- 
elty of  crushing  them  jn,  which  is  to  be  as  vindictive 
as  Alexander,  of  whom  Dryden  tells  us  that 

"Thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes, 
And  thrice  he  slew  the  slain." 

Of,  for  from.  Example:  "Received  of  John  Smh% fifty 
dollars."  Usage,  perhaps,  sanctions  this. 


COMMON    IMPKOPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  347 

At  all  is  a  needless  expletive,  which  is  employed  by 
many  writers  of  what  may  be  called  the  forcible-feeble 
school.  For  example:  "The  coach  was  upset,  but,  strange 
to  say,  not  a  passenger  received  the  slightest  injury  at  all." 
"It  is  not  at  all  strange." 

But  that,  for  that.  This  error  is  quite  common  among 
those  who  think  themselves  above  learning  anything  more 
from  the  dictionary  or  grammar.  Trench  says:  "He 
never  doubts  but  that  he  knows  their  intention.''  A  worse 
error  is  but  what,  as  in  the  reply  of  Mr.  Jobling,  of  Bleak 
House:  "Thank  you,  Guppy,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  will 
take  a  marrow  pudding.''  "  He  would  not  believe  but 
what  I  was  joking." 

Convene  is  used  by  many  persons  in  a  strange  sense. 
"  This  road  will  convene  the  public." 

Eridence  is  a  word  much  abused  by  learned  judges  and 
attorneys, —  being  continually  used  for  testimony.  Eri- 
dence relates  to  the  convictive  view  of  any  one's  mind; 
testimony,  to  the  knowledge  of  another  concerning  some 
fact.  The  evidence  in  a  case  is  often  the  reverse  of  the 
testimony. 

Had  have.  This  is  a  very  low  vulgarism,  notwithstand- 
ing it  has  the  authority  of  Addison.  It  is  quite  common 
to  say,  "  Had  I  have  seen'  him,"  "  Had  you  have  known 
it,"  etc.  We  can  say,  "I  have  been,"  "I  had  been,"  but 
what  sort  of  a  tense  is  had  have  been? 

Had  ought,  had  better,  had  rather.  All  these  expressions 
are  absurdities,  not  less  gross  than  hisn,  tother,  baint,  theirn. 
No  doubt  there  is  plenty  of  good  authority  for  had  better 
and  had  rather;  but  how  can  future  action  be  expressed 
by  a  ^erb  that  signifies  past  and  completed  possession  ? 

At,  for  by.     E.  a..  "Sales  at  auction."     The  word  auc- 


348  WOEDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

tion  signifies  a  manner  of  sale;  and  this  signification  seems 
to  require  the  preposition  by. 

The  above,  as  an  adjective.  "The  above  extract  is  suffi- 
cient to  verify  my  assertion."  "  I  fully  concur  in  the  above 
statement"  (the  statement  above,  or  the  foregoing  state- 
ment). Charles  Lamb  speaks  of  "the  above  boys  and  the 
below  boys." 

Then,  as  an  adjective.  "The  then  king  of  Holland." 
This  error,  to  which  even  educated  men  are  addicted, 
springs  from  a  desire  of  brevity;  but  verbal  economy  is 
not  commendable  when  it  violates  the  plainest  rules  of 
language. 

Final  completion.  As  every  completion  is  final,  the 
adjective  is  superfluous.  Similar  to  this  superabundant 
form  of  expression  is  another,  in  which  universal  and 
all  are  brought  into  the  same  construction.  A  man  is 
said  to  be  "universally  esteemed  by  all  who  know  him." 
If  all  esteem  him,  he  is,  of  course,  unirersally  esteemed; 
and  the  converse  is  equally  true. 

Party,  for  man  or  woman.  This  error,  so  common  in 
England,  is  becoming  more  and  more  prevalent  here.  An 
English  witness  once  testified  that  he  saw  "a  short  party" 
(meaning  person)  "go  over  the  bridge."  Another  Eng- 
lishman, who  had  looked  at  a  .portrait  of  St.  Paul  in  a 
gallery  at  Florence,  being  asked  his  opinion  of  the  picture, 
said  that  he  thought  "the  party  was  very  well  executed." 
It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  it  takes  several  persons  to 
make  a  party. 

Celebrity  is  sometimes  applied  to  celebrated  persons, 
instead  of  being  used  abstractly,  e.  g.,  "  Several  celebrities 
are  at  the  Palmer  House." 

Equanimity  of  mind.      As  equanimity  (fpquus 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  349 

means  evenness  of  mind,  why  should  "  of  mind ''  be  re- 
peated; "Anxiety  of  mind"  is  less  objectionable,  but  the 
first  word  is  sufficient. 

Don't,  for  doesn't,  or  does  not.  Even  so  scholarly  a 
divine  as  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bellows,  of  New  York,  employs 
this  vulgarism  four  times  in  an  article  in  the  "  Inde- 
pendent." "A  man,"  he  says,  "who  knows  only  his  fam- 
ily and  neighbors,  don't  know  them;  a  man  who  only  knows 
the  present  don't  know  that.  .  .  .  Many  a  man,  with  a 
talent  for  making  money,  don't  know  whether  he  is  rich 
or  poor,  because  he  does  not  understand  bookkeeping,"  etc. 

Predicate,  for  found.  E.  g.,  "  His  argument  was  predi- 
cated on  the  assumption,"  etc. 

Try,  for  make.     E.  g.,  "  Try  the  experiment." 

Superior,  for  able,  virtuous,  etc.  E.  g.,  "He  is  a  supe- 
rior man."  Not  less  vulgar  is  the  expression,  "  an  inferior 
man,"  for  a  man  of  small  abilities. 

Deceiving,  for  trying  to  deceive.  E.  g.,  a  person  says 
to  another,  "  You  are  deceiving  me,"  when  he  means 
exactly  the  opposite,  namely,  "  You  are  trying  to  deceive 
me.  but  you  cannot  succeed,  for  your  trickery  is  trans- 
parent." 

The  masses,  for  the  people  generally.  "  The  masses 
must  be  educated."  The  masses  of  what? 

In  our  midst.  This  vulgarism  is  continually  heard  in 
prayer-meetings,  and  from  the  lips  of  Doctors  of  Divinity, 
though  its  incorrectness  has  been  exposed  again  and  again. 
The  second  chapter  in  Prof.  Schele  De  Vere's  excellent 
"Studies  in  English"  begins  thus:  "When  a  man  rises  to 
eminence  in  our  midst,"  etc., —  which  is  doubtless  one  of 
the  few  errors  in  his  book  quas  incuria  fudit.  The  pos- 
sessive pronoun  can  properly  be  used  only  to  indicate 


350  WOEDS;    THEIR    USE   AND   ABUSE. 

possession  or  appurtenance.  "  The  midst "  of  a  company 
or  society  is  not  a  thing  belonging  or  appurtenant  to  the 
company,  or  to  the  individuals  composing  it.  It  is  a  mere 
term  of  relation  of  an  adverbial,  not  of  a  substantive  char- 
acter, and  is  an  intensified  form  of  expression  for  amomj. 
Would  any  one  say,  "  In  our  middle "  ? 

Excessively,  for  exceedingly.  Ladies  often  complain  that 
the  weather  is  "  excessively  hot,"  thereby  implying  that 
they  do  not  object  to  the  heat,  but  only  to  the  excess  of 
heat.  They  mean  simply  that  the  weather  is  very  hot. 

Either  is  applicable  only  to  two  objects;  and  the  same 
remark  is  true  of  neither  and  both.  "Either  of  the  three" 
is  wrong;  so  is  this, —  "Ten  burglars  broke  into  the  house, 
but  neither  of  them  could  be  recognized."  Say,  "  none  of 
them,"  or  "  not  one  of  them,  could  be  recognized."  Either 
is  sometimes  improperly  used  for  each;  e.  g.,  "  On  either 
side  of  the  river  was  the  tree  of  life," — Rev.  xxi.  2.  Here 
it  is  not  meant  that,  if  you  do  not  find  that  the  tree  of 
life  was  on  this  side,  it  was  on  that;  but  that  the  tree  of 
life  was  on  each  side, —  on  this  side,  and  on  that.  In 
Thomson's  "Outlines  of  the  Laws  of  Thought,"  page  53, 
we  read:  "  The  names  we  employ  in  speech  .  .  .  are  sym- 
bols both  to  speaker  and  hearer,  the  full  and  exact  mean- 
ing of  which  neither  of  them  stop  to  unfold,"  etc.  The 
proper  use  of  either  was  vindicated  some  years  ago  in  Eng- 
land, by  the  Court  of  Chancery.  A  certain  testator  left 
property,  the  disposition  of  which  was  affected  by  "  the  death 
of  either  "  of  two  persons.  One  learned  counsel  contended 
that  the  word  "either"  meant  both;  in  support  of  this  view 
he  quoted  Richardson,  Webster,  Chaucer,  Dryden,  Southey, 
the  history  of  the  crucifixion,  and  a  passage  from  the 
Revelation.  The  learned  judge  suggested  that  there  was  an 


COMMON    IMPEOPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  351 

old  song  in  the  "  Beggar's  Opera,"  known '  to  all,  which 
took  the  opposite  view: 

"How  happy  could  I  b'e  with  either, 
Were  t'other  dear  charmer  away." 

In  pronouncing  judgment,  the  judge  dissented  entirely 
from  the  argument  of  the  learned  counsel.  "  Either,"  he 
said,  "means  one  of  two,  and  does  not  mean  both." 
Though  occasionally,  by  poets  and  some  other  writers,  the 
word  was  employed  to  signify  both,  it  did  not  in  this 
case  before  the  court. 

Whether  is  a  contraction  of  which  of  either,  and  there- 
fore cannot  be  correctly  applied  to  more  than  two  objects. 

Never,  for  ever.  E.  g.,  "Charm  he  never  so  wisely"; 
"  Let  the  offence  be  of  never  so  high  a  nature."  Many 
grammarians  approve  of  this  use  of  never;  but  its  cor- 
rectness, to  say  the  least,  is  doubtful.  In  such  sentences  as 
these,  "  He  was  deaf  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer,  charm  he 
ever  so  wisely,"  "  Were  it  ever  so  fine  a  day,  I  would  not  go 
out,"  the  word  ever  is  an  adverb  of  degree,  and  has  nothing 
to  do  with  time.  "  If  I  take  ever  so  little  of  this  drug, 
it  will  kill  me,"  is  equivalent  to  "  however  little,"  or  "  how 
little  soever  I  take  of  this  drug,  it  will  kill  me."  Harrison 
well  says  on  this  point:  "Let  any  one  translate  one  of  these 
phrases  into  another  language,  and  he  will  find  that  ever 
presents  itself  as  a  term  expressive  of  degree,  and  not  of 
time  at  all.  "Charm  he  ever  so  wisely":  Quamvis  incan- 
tandi  sit  peritus,  ant  peritissimus. 

Seldom  or  never  is  a  common  vulgarism.  Say,  "  seldom, 
if  ever." 

Sit,  sat,  are  much  abused  words.  It  is  said  that  the 
brilliant  Irish  lawyer,  Curran,  once  carelessly  observed  in 
court,  "an  action  lays,"  and  the  judge  corrected  him  by 


352  WORDS  ;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

remarking,  "Lies,  Mr.  Curran, —  hens  lay";  but  subse- 
quently the  judge  ordering  a  counsellor  to  "  set  down," 
Curran  retaliated,  "Sit  down,  your  honor, —  hens  set." 
The  retort  was  characterized  by  more  wit  than  truth. 
Hens  do  not  set;  they  sit.  It  is  not  unusual  to  hear  per- 
sons say,  "The  coat  sets  well";  "The  wind  sets  fair."  Sits 
is  the  proper  word.  The  preterite  of  sit  is  often  in- 
correctly used  for  that  of  set;  e.  g.,  "He  sat  off  for 
Boston." 

From  thence,  from  whence.  As  the  adverbs  tlifuci' 
and  whence  literally  supply  the  place  of  a  noun  and 
preposition,  there  is  a  solecism  in  employing  a  preposition 
in  conjunction  with  them. 

Conduct.  In  conversation,  this  verb  is  frequently  used 
without  the  personal  pronoun;  as,  "he  conducts  well," 
for  "he  conducts  himself  well." 

Least,  for  less.     "  Of  two  evils,  choose  the  least." 

A  confirmed  invalid.  Can  weakness  be  strong?  If  not, 
how  can  a  man  be  a  confirmed,  or  strengthened,  invalid? 

Proposition,  for  proposal.  This  is  not  a  solecism,  but, 
as  a  univocal  word  is  preferable  to  one  that  is  equivocal, 
proposal,  for  a  thing  offered  or  proposed,  is  better  than 
proposition.  Strictly,  a  proposal  is  something  offered 
to  be  done;  a  proposition  is  something  submitted  to  one's 
consideration.  E.  g.,  "  He  rejected  the  proposal  of  his 
friend;"  "he  demonstrated  the  fifth  proposition  in  Eu- 
clid." 

Previous,  for  previously.  "  Previous  to  my  leaving 
America." 

Appreciates,  for  rises  in  value.  "  Gold  appreciated 
yesterday." 

Proven  for  proved,  and  plead  for  pleaded,  are  clearly 
vulgarisms. 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  353 

Bound,  for  ready  or  determined.  "  I  am  bound  to  do 
it."  We  may  say  properly  that  a  ship  is  "  bound  to  Liv- 
erpool"; but  in  that  case  we  do  not  employ,  as  many 
suppose,  the  past  participle  of  the  verb  to  bind,  but  the 
old  northern  participial  adjective,  buinn,  from  the  verb, 
at  bita,  signifying  "to  make  ready,  or  prepare."  The 
term  is  strictly  a  nautical  one,  and  to.  employ  it  in  a 
sense  that  unites  the  significations  both  of  buinn  and  the 
English  participle  bound  from  bind,  is  a  plain  abuse  of 
language. 

No,  for  not.  E.  g.,  "  Whether  I  am  there  or  no." 
Cowper  writes: 

"I  will  not  ask  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 
Whether  birds  confabulate  or  no." 

By  supplying  the  ellipsis,  we  shall  see  that  not  is  here 
the  proper  word.  "  Whether  birds  confabulate,  or  do  not 
confabulate";  "Avhether  I  am  there,  or  not  there."  No 
never  properly  qualifies  a  verb. 

Such  for  so.  E.  g.,  "  I  never  saw  such  a  high  spire." 
This  means,  "I  never  saw  a  high  spire  of  such  a  form," 
or  "of  such  architecture";  whereas  the  speaker,  in  all 
probability,  means  only  that  he  never  saw  so  high  a 
spire. 

Incorrect  orthography.  Orthography  means  "correct 
writing,  or  spelling."  "  Incorrect  orthography  "  is,  there- 
foi*e,  equivalent  to  "  incorrect  correct  writing." 

How  for  that.  "I  have  heard  how  some  critics  have 
been  pacified  with  claret  and  a  supper." 

Directly,  for  as  soon  as.  "  Directly  he  came,  I  went 
away  with  him." 

Equally  as  well,  for  equally  well.  E.  g.,  "It  will  do 
equally  as  well." 


354  WORDS;    THEIR    USE   AND   ABUSE. 

Looks  beautifully.  In  spite  of  the  frequency  with 
which  this  impropriety  has  been  censured,  one  hears  it 
almost  daily  from  the  lips  of  educated  men  and  women. 
The  error  arises  from  confounding  look  in  the  sense  of 
to  direct  the  eye,  and  look  in  the  sense  of  to  seem,  to 
appear.  In  English,  many  verbs  take  an  adjective  with 
them  to  form  th.e  predicate,  where  in  other  languages  an 
adverb  would  be  used;  e.  g.,  "he  fell  ill";  "he  feels  cold1'; 
"her  smiles  amid  the  blushes  lovelier  show."  No  culti- 
vated person  would  say,  "she  is  beautifully,"  or  "she 
seems  beautifully,"  yet  these  phrases  are  no  more  im- 
proper than  "she  looks  beautifully."  We  qualify  what  a 
person  does  by  an  adverb;  what  a  person  is,  or  seems  to 
be,  by  an  adjective:  e.  g.,  "she  looks  coldly  on  him"; 
"she  looks  cold." 

Leave,  as  an  intransitive  verb.  E.  g.,  "  He  left  yes- 
terday." Many  persons  who  use  this  phrase  are  misled 
by  what  they  deem  the  analogous  expressions,  to  irrifc. 
to  read.  These  verbs  express  an  occupation,  as  truly  as 
to  run,  to  walk,  to  stand.  In  answer  to  the  question, 
"What  is  A.  B.  doing?"  it  is  sufficient  to  say,  "He  is 
reading."  Here  a  complete  idea  is  conveyed,  which  is 
not  true  of  the  phrase,  "  He  left  yesterday." 

Mijself,  for  I.  E.  a.,  "  Mrs.  Jones  and  myself  will  be 
happy  to  dine  with  you";  "Prof.  S.  and  myself  have 
examined  the  work."  The  proper  use  of  myself  is  either 
as  a  reflective  pronoun,  or  for  the  sake  of  distinction  and 
emphasis;  as  when  Juliet  cries,  "Romeo,  doff  thy  name, 
and  for  that  name,  which  is  no  part  of  thee,  take  all 
myself";  or  in  Milton's  paradisiacal  hymn:  "These  are 
thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  Good,  Almighty!  thine  this 


COMMON   IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  355 

universal  frame  thus  wondrous  fair!    Thyself  how  won- 
drous then!" 

Restive.  This  word,  which  means  inclined  to  rest,  ob- 
xtitidte,  unwiUing  to  go,  is  employed,  almost  constantly,  in 
a  sense  directly  the  reverse  of  this;  that  is,  for  uneasy, 
restless. 

Quantity,  for  number.  E.  g.,  "A  quantity  of  books"; 
"a  quantity  of  postage  stamps."  In  speaking  of  a  col- 
lection or  mass,  it  is  proper  to  use  quantity;  but  in 
speaking  of  individual  objects,  however  many,  we  must 
use  the  word  number.  "A  quantity  of  meat"  or  "a  quan- 
tity of  iron"  is  good  English,  but  not  "a  quantity  of 
bank-notes."  We  may  say  "  a  quantity  of  wood,"  but  we 
should  say  "a  number  of  sticks." 

Carnival.  This  word  literally  means  "a  farewell  to 
meat,"  or,  as  some  etymologists  think,  "flesh,  be  strong!" 
In  Catholic  countries  it  signifies  a  festival  celebrated  with 
merriment  and  revelry  during  the  week  before  Lent.  In 
this  country,  especially  in  newspaper  use,  it  is  employed 
in  the  sense  of  fun,  frolic,  spree,  festival;  and  that  so 
universally  as  almost  to  have  banished  some  of  these  words 
from  the  language.  If  many  persons  are  skating,  that  is 
a  carnival;  so,  if  they  take  a  sleigh-ride,  or  if  there  is  a 
rush  to  Long  Branch  in  the  summer.  As  we  have  a  plenty 
of  legitimate  words  to  describe  these  festivities,  the  use  of 
this  outlandish  term  has  not  a  shadow  of  justification. 

All  of  them.  As  of  here  means  out  of,  corresponding 
with  the  Latin  preposition  e,  or  ex,  it  cannot  be  correct  to 
say  all  of  them.  We  may  say,  "  take  one  of  them "  or 
"take  two  of  them,"  or  "take  them  all";  but  the  phrase 
we  are  criticising  is  wholly  unjustifiable. 

To   allude.     Among  the  improprieties  of  speech  which 


356  AVOEDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

even  those  sharp-eyed  literary  detectives,  Alford,  Moon, 
and  Gould  have  failed  to  pounce  upon  and  pillory,  are 
the  misuses  of  the  word  that  heads  this  article.  Once  the 
verb  had  a  distinct,  well-defined  meaning,  but  it  is  now 
rapidly  losing  its  true  signification.  To  allude  to  a  thing, 

—  what  is  it?  Is  it  not  to  speak  of  it  darkly, —  to  hint  at 
it  playfully  (from  ludo,  ludere, —  to  play),  without  any 
direct  mention?  Yet  the  word  is  used  in  a  sense  directly 
opposite  to  this.  Suppose  you  lose  in  the  street  some  pack- 
age, and  advertise  its  loss  in  the  newspapers.  The  person 
who  finds  the  package  is  sure  to  reply  to  your  advertise- 
ment by  speaking  of  "the  package  you  alluded  to  in  your 
advertisement,"  though  you  have  alluded  to  nothing,  but 
have  told  your  story  in  the  most  distinct  and  straightfor- 
ward manner  possible,  without  an  approximation  to  a  hint 
or  innuendo.  Newspaper  reporters,  by  their  abuse  of  this 
unhappy  word,  will  transform  a  bold  and  daring  speech  in 
Congress,  in  which  a  senator  has  taken  some  bull  by  the 
horns, —  in  other  words,  dealt  openly  and  manfully  with 
the  subject  discussed, —  into  a  heap  of  dark  and  mysterious 
innuendoes.  The  honorable  gentleman  alluded  to  the  cur- 
rency—  to  the  war  —  to  Andrew  Johnson  —  to  the  New 
Orleans  massacre;  he  alluded  to  the  sympathizers  with  the 
South,  though  he  denounced  them  in  the  most  caustic 
terms;  he  alluded  to  the  tax-bill,  and  he  alluded  to  fifty 
other  things,  about  every  one  of  which  he  spoke  out  his 
mind  in  emphatic  and  unequivocal  terms.  An  English 
journal  tells  a  ludicrous  story  of  an  M.  P.  who,  his  health 
having  been  drunk  by  name,  rose  on  his  legs,  and  spoke  of 
"the  nattering  way  in  which  he  had  been  alluded  to." 
Another  public  speaker  spoke  of  a  book  which  had  been 
alluded  to  by  name.  But  the  climax  of  absurdity  in  the 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES    OF   SPEECH.  357 

use  of  this  word  was  attained  by  an  Irish  M.P.,  who  wrote 
a  life  of  an  Italian  poet.  Quoting  Byron's  lines  about 
"  the  fatal  gift  of  beauty,"  he  then  goes  on  to  talk  about 
"the  fatal  gift  which  has  been  already  alluded  to!" 

Either  alternative.  E.  g.,  "  You  may  take  either  alterna- 
tive." "  Two  alternatives  were  presented  to  me."  Alter- 
native evidently  means  a  choice, —  one  choice, —  between 
two  things.  If  there  be  only  one  offered,  we  say  there  is 
no  alternative.  Two  alternatives  is,  therefore,  a  palpable 
contradiction  in  terms;  yet  some  speakers  talk  of  "several 
alternatives"  having  been  presented  to  them. 

Whole,  for  all.  The  "Spectator"  says:  "The  Red-Cross 
Knight  runs  through  the  whole  steps  of  the  Christian  life." 
Alison,  who  is  one  of  the  loosest  writers  in  our  literature, 
declares,  in  his  "  History  of  the  French  Revolution,"  that 
"  the  whole  Russians  are  inspired  with  the  belief  *that  their 
mission  is  to  conquer  the  world."  This  can  only  mean 
that  those  Russians  who  are  entire, —  who  have  not  lost  a 
leg,  an  arm,  or  some  other  part  of  the  body, —  are  inspired 
with  the  belief  of  which  he  speaks.  Whole  refers  to  the 
component  parts  of  a  single  body,  and  is  therefore  singular 
in  meaning. 

Jeopardize.  There  is  considerable  authority  for  this 
word,  which  is  beginning  to  supplant  the  good  old  English 
word  jeopard.  But  why  is  it  more  needed  than  perilize, 
hazardize  ? 

Preventative,  for  preventive;  conversationalist,  for  con- 
verser;  underhanded,  for  underhand;  casuality,  for  cas- 
ualty; speciality,  for  specialty;  leniency,  for  lenity;  firstly, 
for  first;  are  all  base  coinages, —  barbarisms  which  should 
be  excommunicated  by  "  bell,  book,  and  candle." 

Dangerous,  for  in  danger.     A  leading  Boston  paper  says 


358  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

of  a  deceased  minister:  "His  illness  was  only  of  a  week's 
duration,  and  was  pleurisy  and  rheumatism.  He  was  not 
supposed  to  be  dangerous." 

Nice.  One  of  the  most  offensive  barbarisms  now  preva- 
lent, is  the  use  of  this  as  a  pet  word  to  express  almost  every 
kind  of  approbation,  and  almost  every  quality.  Strictly, 
nice  can  be  used  only  in  a  subjective,  not  in  an  objective, 
sense;  though  both  of  our  leading  lexicographers  approve 
of  .such  expressions  as  "a  nice  bit  of  cheese."  Of  the 
vulgarity  of  such  expressions  as  "a  nice  man"  (meaning  a 
good  or  pleasing  man),  "  a  nice  day,"  "  a  nice  party,"  etc., 
there  cannot  be  a  shadow  of  doubt.  "A  nice  man  "  means 
a  fastidious  man;  a  "nice  letter"  is  a  letter  very  delicate 
in  its  language.  Some  persons  are  more  nice  than  wise. 
Archdeacon  Hare  complains  that  "  this  characterless  dom- 
ino," as  fee  stigmatizes  the  word  nice,  is  continually  used 
by  his  countrymen,  and  that  "  a  universal  deluge  of  niascrif 
(for  the  word  was  originally  niais)  threatens  to  whelm  the 
whole  island."  The  Latin  word  elegam  seems  to  have  had 
a  similar  history;  being  derived  from  elego,  and  meaning 
primarily  nice  or  choice,  and  subsequently  elegant. 

Mutual,  for  common,  or  reciprocal.  Dean  Alford  justly 
protests  against  the  stereotyped  vulgarism,  "a  mutual 
friend."  Mutual  is  applicable  to  sentiments  and  acts,  but 
not  to  persons.  Two  friends  may  have  a  mutual  love,  but 
for  either  to  speak  of  a  third  person  as  being  "their  mutual 
friend,"  is  sheer  nonsense.  Yet  Dickens  entitled  one  of  his 
novels,  "Our  Mutual  Friend." 

Stopping,  for  staying.  "The  Hon.  John  Jones  is  stop- 
ping at  the  Sherman  House."  In  reading  such  a,  statement 
as  this,  we  are  tempted  to  ask,  When  will  Mr.  Jones  stop 
stopping?  A  man  may  stop  a  dozen  times  at  a  place,  or  on 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES    OF   SPEECH.  359 

a  journey,  but  he  cannot  continue  stopping.  One  may  stop 
at  a  hotel  without  becoming  a  guest.  The  true  meaning  of 
the  word  stop  was  well  understood  by  the- man  who  did  not 
invite  his  professed  friend  to  visit  him:  "If  you  come,  at 
any  time,  within  ten  miles  of  my  house,  just  stop." 

Trifl'my  ni'nnttiut'.  Archbishop  Whately,  in  his  "Rhet- 
oric,"' speaks  of  "  trifling  minutiae  of  style."  In  like 
manner,  Henry  Kirke  White  speaks  of  his  poems  as  being 
"  the  juvenile  efforts  of  a  youth,"  and  Disraeli,  the  author 
of  "The  Curiosities  of  Literature,"  speaks  of  "the  battles 
of  logomachy,"  and  of  "the  mysteries  of  the  arcana  of 
alchemy."  The  first  of  these  phrases  may  be  less  palpably 
tautological  than  the  other  three;  yet  as  minutiae  means 
nearly  the  same  thing  as  trifles,  a  careful  writer  would  be 
as  averse  to  using  such  an  expression  as  Whately's,  as  he 
would  to  talking,  like  Sir  Archibald  Alison,  of  representa- 
tive institutions  as  having  been  "  reestablished  in  our  time 
by  the  influence  of  English  vl»^/0mania." 

Indices,  for  indexes.  "  We  have  examined  our  indices," 
etc.,  say  the  Chicago  abstract-makers.  Indices  are  alge- 
braic signs;  tables  of  contents  are  indexes. 

Rendition,  for  rendering.  E.  g.,  "  Mr.  Booth's  i-endition 
of  Hamlet  was  admirable."  Rendition  means  surrender, 
giving  up,  relinquishing  to  another;  as  when  we  speak  of 
the  rendition  of  a  beleaguered  town  to  the  besieger,  or  of  a 
pledge  upon  the  satisfaction  of  a  debt. 

Extend,  for  give.  Lecture  committees,  instead  of  sim- 
ply inviting  a  public  speaker,  or  giving  him  an  invitation, 
almost  universally  extend  an  invitation;  perhaps,  because 
he  is  generally  at  a  considerable  distance.  Richard  Grant 
White  says  pertinently:  "As  extend  (from  ex  and  tendo) 
means  merely  to  stretch  forth,  it  is  much  better  to  say  that 


360  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

a  man  put  out,  offered,  or  stretched  forth  his  hand  than 
that  he  extended  it.  Shakspeare  makes  the  pompous,  prag- 
matical Malvolio  -say:  'I  extend  my  hand  to  him  thus'; 
but  Paul  '  stretched  forth  the  hand  and  answered  for  him- 
self.1 This,  however,  is  a  question  of  taste,  not  of  cor- 
rectness." 

Except,  for  unless.  E.  g.,  "  No  one,  except  he  has  served 
an  apprenticeship,  need  apply."  The  former  word  is  a 
preposition,  and  must  be  followed  by  a  noun  or  pronoun, 
and  not  by  a  proposition. 

Couple,  for  pair  or  brace.  When  two  persons  or  things 
are  joined  or  linked  together,  they  form  a  couple.  The 
number  of  things  that  can  be  coupled,  is  comparatively 
small,  yet  the  expression  is  in  constant  use;  as,  "a  couple  of 
books,"  "a  couple  of  partridges,"  "a  couple  of  weeks,"  etc. 
One  might  as  well  speak  of  "a  pair  of  dollars." 

Every.  E.  g.,  "I  have  every  confidence  in  him"; 
"they  rendered  me  every  assistance."  Every  denotes  all 
the  individuals  of  a  number  greater  than  two,  separately 
considered.  Derived  from  the  Anglo-Saxon,  o?fer,  ever, 
oelc,  each,  it  means  each  of  all,  not  all  in  mass.  By  "  every 
confidence "  is  meant  simply  perfect  confidence.;  by  "  every 
assistance,"  all  possible  assistance. 

Almost,  as  an  adjective.  Prof.  Whitney,  in  his  able 
work  on  "  Language,  and  the  Study  of  Language,"  speaks 
of  "  the  almost  universality  of  instruction  among  us." 

Condign.  E.  g.,  "  He  does  not  deserve  the  condign  pun- 
ishment he  has  received."  As  the  meaning  of  condign  is 
that  which  is  deserved,  we  have  here  a  contradiction  in 
terms,  the  statement  being  equivalent  to  this:  "He  does 
not  deserve  the  deserved  punishment  he  has  received." 
Paraphernalia.  This  is  a  big,  sounding  word  from  the 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  361 

Greek,  which  some  newspaper  writers  are  constantly  mis- 
using. It  is  strictly  a  law-term,  and  means  whatever  the 
wife  brings  with  her  at  marriage  in  addition  to  her  dower. 
Her  dress  and  her  ornaments  are  paraphernalia.  To  apply 
the  term  to  an  Irishman's  sash  on  St.  Patrick's  day,  or  to  a 
Freemason's  hieroglyphic  apron,  it  has  been  justly  said, 
is  not  only  an  abuse  of  language,  but  a  clear  invasion  of 
woman's  rights. 

Setting-room,  for  sitting-room,  is  a  gross  vulgarism, 
which  is  quite  common,  even  with  those  who  deem  them- 
selves nice  people.  "  I  saw  your  children  in  the  setting- 
room  as  I  went  past,"  said  a  well-dressed  woman  in  our 
hearing,  in  a  horse-car.  How  could  she  go  past?  It  is  not 
difficult  to  go  by  any  object;  but  to  go  past  is  a  contradic- 
tion in  terms. 

An  innumerable  number  is  an  absurd  expression,  which 
is  used  by  some  persons, —  not,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  "an  innu- 
merable number  "  of  times. 

Seraphim,  for  seraph;  the  plural  for  the  singular.  Even 
Addison  says:  "The  zeal  of  the  seraphim  breaks  forth," 
etc.  This  is  as  ludicrous  as  the  language  of  the  Indiana 
justice,  who  spoke  of  "the  first  claw  of  the  statute,"  or 
the  answer  of  the  man  who,  when  asked  whether  he  had  no 
politics,  replied,  "  Not  a  single  politic." 

People,  for  persons.  "  Many  people  think  so."  Better, 
persons;  people  means  a  body  of  persons  regarded  col- 
lectively, a  nation. 

Off  of,  for  off.     "  Cut  a  yard  off  of  the  cloth." 

More  perfect,  most  perfect.     What  shall  be  said  of  these 

and  similar  forms  of  expression?     Doubtless  they  should 

be  discouraged,  though  used  by  Shakspeare  and  Milton.     It 

may  be  argued  in  their  favor,  that,  though  not  logically 

16 


362  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

correct,  yet  they  are  rhetorically  so.  It  is  true  that,  as 
"  twenty  lions  cannot  be  more  twenty  than  twenty  flies,"  so 
nothing  can  be  more  perfect  than  perfection.  But  we  do 
not  object  to  say  that  one  man  is  braver  than  another,  or 
wiser,  though,  if  we  had  an  absolute  standard  of  bravery  or 
wisdom, —  that  is,  a  clear  idea  of  them, —  we  should  pro- 
nounce either  of  the  two  persons  to  be  simply  brave  or  not 
brave,  wise  or  not  wise.  We  say  that  Smith  is  a  better  man 
than  Jones,  though  no  one  is  absolutely  good  but  God. 
These  forms  are  used  because  language  is  inadequate  to 
express  the  intensity  of  the  thought, —  as  in  Milton's  "  most 
wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best,"  or  the  lines 

"And  in  the  lowest  deep  a  lower  deep, 
Still  threatening  to  devour  me,  opens  wide, 
To  which  the  hell  I  suffer  seems  a  heaven." 

Milton  abounds  in  these  illogical  expressions,  as  do  the  best 
Greek  poets;  and  one  of  the  happiest  verses  in  the  poems 
of  W.  W.  Story  is  a  similar  intentional  contradiction,  us 

"Of  every  noble  work  the  silent  part  is  best; 
Of  all  expression,  that  which  cannot  be  expressed." 

Ugly,  for  ill-tempered.  A  leading  New  York  divine  is 
reported  as  saying  of  an  ill-tempered  child,  that  "  he  wants 
all  he  sees,  and  screams  if  he  does  not  get  it;  ugly  as 
he  can  be,  no  matter  who  is  disturbed  by  it." 

Is,  for  are.  One  of  the  most  frequent  blemishes  in 
English  prose  is  the  indiscriminate  use  of  singulars  and 
plurals.  E.  g.,  Junius  writes:  "Both  minister  and  mag- 
istrate is  compelled  to  choose  between  his  duty  and  his 
reputation."  Even  Lindley  Murray  writes:  "Their  gen- 
eral scope  and  tendency  is  not  remembered  at  all " ;  and 
Milton  sings: 

"For  their  mind  and  spirit  remains  invincible," 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  363 

Some  grammarians  defend  these  forms  of  expression  on 
the  ground  that  when  two  or  more  nouns  singular  repre- 
sent a  single  idea,  the  verb  to  which  they  are  the  nomi- 
native may  be  put  in  the  singular.  The  answer  to  this 
is,  that  if  the  nouns  express  the  same  idea,  one  of  them 
is  superfluous;  if  different  ideas,  then  they  form  a  plural, 
and  the  verb  should  be  plural  also.  Another  quibble 
employed  to  justify  such  expressions,  is  that  the  verb,  which 
is  expressed  after  the  last  noun,  is  considered  as  understood 
after  the  first.  But  we  are  not  told  how  this  process  of 
subaudition  can  go  on  in  the  mind  of  the  reader,  before- 
he  knows  what  the  verb  is  to  be ;  and  while  ellipsis  not 
only  is  in  many  cases  permissible,  but  gives  conciseness 
and  energy  to  style,  yet  there  is  a  limit  beyond  which  it 
cannot  be  pushed  without  leading  to  literary  anarchy. 

Caption,  for  heading.  E.  y.,  "The  caption  of  this 
newspaper  article."  Caption  means  that  part  of  a  legal 
instrument  which  shows  where,  when,  and  by  what 
authority  it  was  taken,  found,  or  executed. 

To  ej'frcHu-Ii/  maltreat.  This  phrase  from  Trench  is  an 
example  of  a  very  common  solecism.  To,  the  sign  of  the 
infinitive,  should  never  be  separated  from  the  verb.  Say, 
"to  maltreat  extremely,"  or  "extremely  to  maltreat." 

Accord,  for  grant.  "  He  accorded  them  (or  to  them) 
all  they  asked  for."  To  accord  with,  means  properly  to 
agree  or  to  suit;  as,  "He  accorded  with  my  views." 

Enthuse,  a  word  used  by  some  clergymen,  is  not  to  be 
found  either  in  Worcester's  Dictionary  or  in  Webster's 
"  Unabridged." 

Personalty.  This  word  is  supposed  by  some  persons 
to  mean  articles  worn  on  one's  person.  Some  years  ago, 
a  lady,  in  England,  who  had  made  this  mistake,  and 


364  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

who  wished  to  leave  to  her  servant  her  clothing,  jewels, 
etc.,  described  them  as  her  personalty,  and  unwittingly 
included  in  her  bequest  ten  thousand  pounds. 

Do.  This  verb  is  often  used  incorrectly  as  a  substi- 
tute for  other  verbs;  as,  "I  did  not  say,  as  some  have 
done."  We  may  properly  say,  "I  did  not  say,  as  some 
do"  (say),  for  here  the  ellipsis  of  the  preceding  verb  may 
be  supplied. 

On  to,  for  on,  or  upon.  "He  got  on  to  an  omnibus;" 
"  He  jumped  on  to  a  chair."  The  preposition  to  is 
superfluous.  Say,  "  He  got  upon  an  omnibus,"  etc. 
Some  persons  speak  of  "  continuing  on,"  which  is  as 
objectionable  as  "  He  went  to  Boston  for  to  see  the  city." 

Older,  for  elder.  Older  is  properly  applied  to  objects, 
animate  and  inanimate;  elder,  to  rational  beings. 

Overflown,  for  overflowed.  "  The  river  has  overflown." 
Floived  is  the  participle  of  "to  flow";  flown,  of  ".to  fly." 

Spoonsful,  for  spoonfuls,  and  effluvia  for  effluvium,  arc 
very  common  errors.  "A  disagreeable  effluvia"  is  a> 
gross  a  mistake  as  "  an  inexplicable  phenomena." 

Scarcely,  for  hardly.  Scarcely  pertains  to  quantity; 
hardly,  to  degree;  as,  "There  is  scarcely  a  bushel";  "I 
shall  hardly  finish  my  job  by  night-fall." 

Fare  thee  well,  which  has  Byron's  authority,  is  plainly 
wrong. 

Community,  for  the  community;  as,  "Community  will 
not  submit  to  such  outrages."  Prof.  Marsh  has  justly 
censured  this  vulgarism.  Who  would  think  of  saying, 
"Public  is  interested  in  this  question"?  When  we  per- 
*<  >  a  if  if  common  nouns  used  definitely  in  the  singular 
number,  we  may  omit  the  article,  as  when  we  speak  of 
the  doings  of  Parliament,  or  of  Holy  Church.  "  During 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES    OF   SPEECH.  365 

the  Revolution,"  says  Professor  M.,  "while  the  federal 
government  was  a  body  of  doubtful  authority  and  per- 
manence, .  .  .  the  phrase  used  was  always  'the  Congress,' 
and  such  is  the  form  of  expression  in  the  Constitution 
itself.  But  when  the  Government  became  consolidated, 
and  Congress  was  recognized  as  the  paramount  legislative 
power  of  the  Union,  ...  it  was  personified,  and  the  arti- 
cle dropped,  and,  in  like  manner,  the  word  Government 
is  often  used  in  the  same  way." 

Folks,  for  folk.  As  folk  implies  plurality,  the  s  is 
needless. 

Mussulmen.  Mussulman  is  not  a  compound  of  man, 
and,  therefore,  like  German,  it  forms  its  plural  by  add- 
ing s. 

Drive,  for  ride.  A  lady  says  that  "she  is  going  to 
drive  in  the  park,"  when  she  intends  that  her  servant 
shall  drive  (not  her,  but)  the  horses. 

Try  and,  for  try  to.     E.  g.,  "  Try  and  do  it." 

Whole,  entire,  complete,  and  total,  are  words  which  are 
used  almost  indiscriminately  by  many  persons.  That  is 
whole,  from  which  nothing  has  been  taken;  that  is  entire, 
which  has  not  been  divided;  that  is  complete,  which  has 
all  its  parts.  Total  refers  to  the  aggregate  of  the  parts. 
Thus  we  say,  a  whole  loaf  of  bread;  an  entire  set  of 
spoons;  a  complete  harness;  the  total  cost  or  expense. 

Succeed,  for  give  success  to,  or  cause  to  succeed.  E.  g., 
"If  Providence  succeed  us  in  this  work."  Both  Webster 
and  Worcester  justify  this  use  of  succeed  as  a  transitive 
verb;  but  if  not  now  grammatically  objectionable,  as 
formerly,  it  is  still  to  be  avoided  on  the  ground  of  am- 
biguity. In  the  phrase  quoted,  succeed  may  mean  either 
cause  to  succeed,  or  follow. 


366  WOKDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

Two  good  ones.  "Among  all  the  apples  there  were 
but  two  good  ones."  Two  ones? 

Raising  the  rent,  for  increasing  the  rent.  A  landlord 
notified  his  tenant  that  he  should  raise  his  rent.  "  Thank 
you,"  was  the  reply;  "I  find  it  very  hard  to  raise  it 
myself." 

Was,  for  is.  "  Two  young  men,"  says  Swift,  "  have 
made  a  discovery,  that  there  was  a  God."  That  there 
was  a  God?  When?  This  year,  or  last  year,  or  ages 
ago?  All  general  truths  should  be  expressed  by  the  use 
of  verbs  in  the  present  tense. 

Shall  and  will.  There  are,  perhaps,  no  two  words  in 
the  language  which  are  more  frequently  confounded  or 
used  inaccurately,  than  shall  and  will.  Certain  it  is,  that 
of  all  the  rocks  on  which  foreigners  split  in  the  use  of  the 
Queen's  English,  there  is  none  which  so  puzzles  and  per- 
plexed them  as  the  distinction  between  these  little  words. 
Originally  both  words  were  employed  for  the  same  purpose 
in  other  languages  of  the  same  stock  with  ours;  but  their 
use  has  been  worked  out  by  the  descendants  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons,  until  it  has  attained  a  degree  of  nicety  remarkable 
in  itself,  and  by  no  means  easy  of  acquisition  even  by  the 
subjects  of  Victoria  or  by  Americans.  Every  one  has  heard 
of  the  Dutchman  who,  on  falling  into  a  river,  cried  out, 
"  I  will  drown,  and  nobody  shall  help  me."  The  Irish  are 
perpetually  using  shall  for  will,  while  the  Scotch  use  of  trill 
for  shall  is  equally  inveterate  and  universal.  Dr.  Chalmers 
says:  "I  am  not  able  to  devote  as  much  time  and  attention 
to  other  subjects  as  I  will  be  under  the  necessity  of  doing 
next  winter."  The  use  of  shall  for  tcill,  in  the  fol- 
lowing passage,  has  led  some  critics  strongly  to  sus- 
pect that  the  author  of  the  anonymous  work,  "Vestiges 


COMMON    IMPROPRIETIES   OF   SPEECH.  367 

of  Creation,"  is  a  Scotchman:  "I  do  not  expect  that 
any  word  of  praise  which  this  work  may  elicit  shall  ever 
be  responded  to  by  me;  or  that  any  word  of  censure  shall 
ever  be  parried  or  deprecated."  This  awkward  use  of 
shall,  we  have  seen,  is  not  a  Scotticism;  yet  it  is  curious 
to  see  how  a  writer  who  pertinaciously  shrouds  himself 
in  mystery,  may  be  detected  by  the  blundering  use  of  a 
monosyllable.  So  the  use  of  the  possessive  neuter  pronoun 
its  in  the  poems  which  Chatterton  wrote  and  palmed  off 
as  the  productions  of  one  Rowlie,  a  monk  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  betrayed  the  forgery, —  inasmuch  as  that  little 
monosyllable,  its,  now  so  common  and  convenient,  did  not 
find  its  way  into  the  language  till  about  the  time  of  Shaks- 
peare.  Milton  never  once  uses  it,  nor,  except  as  a  mis- 
print, is  it  to  be  found  anywhere  in  the  Bible. 

Gilfillan,  a  Scotch  writer,  thus  uses  will  for  Shall:  "If 
we  look  within  the  rough  and  awkward  outside,  we  will 
be  richly  rewarded  by  its  perusal."  So  Alison,  the  his- 
torian: "  We  know  to  what  causes  our  past  reverses  have 
been  owing,  and  we  will  have  ourselves  to  blame  if  they 
are  again  incurred."  Macaulay  observes  that  "  not  one 
Londoner  in  a  thousand  ever  misplaces  his  ivill  and  shall. 
Doctor  Robinson  could,  undoubtedly,  have  written  a  lumi- 
nous dissertation  on  the  use  of  those  words.  Yet,  even  in 
his  latest  work,  he  sometimes  misplaced  them  ludicrously." 
But  Dr.  Johnson  was  a  Londoner,  and  he  did  not  always 
use  his  shalls  and  wills  correctly,  as  will  be  seen  by  the 
following  extract  from  a  letter  to  Boswell  in  1774:  "You 
must  make  haste  and  gather  me  all  you  can,  and  do  it 
quickly,  or  I  will  and  shall  do  without  it."  In  this  anti- 
climax Johnson  meant  to  emphasize  the  latter  of  the  aux- 
iliaries. But  shall  (Saxon,  sceal=necesse  est,)  in  the  first 


368  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

person,  simply  foretells;  as,  "I  shall  go  to  New  York  to- 
morrow." On  the  other  hand,  tcill,  in  the  first  person, 
not  only  foretells,  but  promises,  or  declares  the  resolution 
to  do  a  thing;  as,  "I  will  pay  you  what  I  owe  you."  The 
Doctor  should  have  said:  ''I  shall  and  will  do  without  it," 
putting  the  strongest  term  last.  The  confusion  of  the 
two  words  is  steadily  increasing  in  this  country.  Form- 
erly the  only  Americans  who  confounded  them  were  South- 
erners; now,  the  misuse  of  the  words  is  stealing  through 
the  North.  E.  g.,  "  I  will  go  to  town  to-morrow,  and 
shall  take  an  early  opportunity  of  calling  on  your  friend 
there."  "  We  will  never  look  on  his  like  again."  A  writer 
in  a  New  York  paper  says:  "None  of  our  coal  mines  are 
deep,  but  the  time  is  coming  when  we  will  have  to  dig 
deeper  in  search  of  both  coal  and  metallic  ores."  Again: 
we  hear  persons  speak  thus:  "Let  us  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out, and  we  will  avoid  all  danger." 

Shakspeare  rarely  confounded  the  two  words  ;  for  ex- 
ample, in  "  Coriolanus  " : 

"•Cor.    Shall  remain! 

Hear  you  this  Triton  of  the  minnows?  mark  you 
His  absolute  shall?" 

Again,  in  Antony  and  Cleopatra: 

"Meno.    Wilt  thou  be  lord  of  the  whole  world? 
Senator.    He  shall  to  the  market-place." 

Wordsworth,  too,  who  is  one  of  the  most  accurate 
writers  in  oxir  literature,  nicely  discriminates  in  his  use 
of  shall  and  will: 

"This  child  I  to  myself  will  take; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 
To  her;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 
In  many  a  secret  place 


COMMON   IMPROPRIETIES    OF   SPEECH.  369 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  boru  of  murmuring  sound 
Shall  pass  into  her  face." 

In  the  last  passage  determination  is  expressed,  and 
therefore  shall  is  properly  used. 

When  the  Bible  was  translated,  the  language  was  in  a 
state  of  transition;  hence  we  read  in  Kings  ii.:  "Ahab 
shall  slay  me,"  for  will.  In  Genesis  xliii.  3-5,  the  two 
words  are  nicely  discriminated. 

The  general  rule  to  be  followed  in  the  use  of  the  two 
words  is,  that  when  the  simple  idea  of  future  occurrence 
is  to  be  expressed,  unconnected  with  the  speaker's  resolve, 
we  must  use  shall  in  the  first  person,  and  will  in  the 
second  and  third;  as,  "I  shall  die,  you  will  die,  he  will 
die";  but  when  the  idea  of  compulsion  or  necessity  is  to 
be  conveyed, —  a  futurity  connected  with  the  will  of  the 
speaker, —  will  must  be  employed  in  the  first  person,  and 
shall  in  the  second  and  third  ;  as,  "  I  will  go,  you  shall 
go,  he  shall  go."  "  I  shall  attain  to  thirty  at  my  next 
birthday"  merely  foretells  the  age  to  which  the  speaker 
will  have  reached  at  his  next  birthday;  "I  will  attain  to 
thirty  at  my  next  birthday"  would  imply  a  determination 
to  be  so  old  at  the  time  mentioned.  "  You  shall  have  some 
money  to-morrow"  would  imply  a  promise  to  pay  it;  "you 
will  have  some  money  to-morrow"  would  only  imply  an 
expectation  that  the  person  addressed  would  receive  some 
money. 

Similar  to  the  misuse  of  shall  and  tvill,  is  that  of  would 
for  should;  as,  "You  promised  that  it  would  be  done"; 
"  But  for  reinforcements  we  would  have  been  beaten."  Mr. 
Brace,  in  his  work  on  Hungary,  makes  the  people  of  that 
country  sav  of  Kossuth:  "He  ought  to  have  known  that  we 
16* 


370  WORDS;  THEIR  USE  AND  ABUSE. 

would  be  ruined," — which  can  only  mean  "we  wished  to 
be  ruined." 

The  importance  of  attending  to  the  distinction  of  shall 
and  will,  and  to  the  nice  distinctions  of  words  generally,  is 
strikingly  illustrated  by  an  incident  in  Massachusetts.  In 
1844,  Abner  Rogers  was  tried  in  that  State  for  the  murder 
of  the  warden  of  the  penitentiary.  The  man  who  had  been 
sent  to  search  the  prisoner,  said  in  evidence:  "He  (Rogers) 
said,  '  I  have  fixed  the  warden,  and  I'll  have  a  rope  round 
my  neck.'  On  the  strength  of  what  he  said,  I  took  his 
suspenders  from  him."  Being  cross-examined,  the  witness 
said  his  words  were:  "I  will  have  a  rope,"  not  "I  shall 
have  a  rope."  The  counsel  against  the  prisoner  argued 
that  he  declared  an  intention  of  suicide,  to  escape  from  the 
penalty  of  the  law,  which  he  knew  he  had  incurred.  On 
the  other  hand,  shall  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  regarded 
as  a  betrayal  of  his  consciousness  of  having  incurred  a 
felon's  doom.  The  prisoner  was  acquitted  on  the  ground 
of  insanity.  Strange  that  the  fate  of  an  alleged  murderer 
should  turn  upon  the  question  which  he  used  of  two  little 
words  that  are  so  frequently  confounded,  and  employed  one 
for  the  other!  It  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  of  a 
more  pregnant  comment  on  the  importance  of  using  words 
with  discrimination  and  accuracy. 

It  would  be  impossible,  in  the  limits  to  which  we  are 
restricted,  to  give  all  the  nice  distinctions  to  be  observed  in 
the  use  of  shall  and  will.  For  a  full  explanation  of  the 
subject  we  must  refer  the  unlearned  reader  to  the  various 
English  grammars,  and  such  works  as  Sir  E.  W.  Head's 
treatise  on  the  two  words,  and  the  works  on  Synonymes 
by  Graham,  Crabb,  and  Whately.  Prof.  Schele  DeVere, 
in  his  late  "Studies  in  Language,"  expresses  the  opinion 


COMMON   IMPROPRIETIES   OF    SPEECH.  371 

that  this  double  future  is  a  great  beauty  of  the  English 
language,  but  that  it  is  impossible  to  give  any  rule  for  its 
use,  which  will  cover  all  cases,  and  that  the  only  sure  guide 
is  "  that  instinct  which  is  given  to  all  who  learn  a  language 
with  their  mother's  milk,  or  who  acquire  it  so  successfully 
as  to  master  its  spirit  as  well  as  its  form."  His  use  of  will 
for  shall,  in  this  very  work,  verifies  the  latter  part  of  this 
statement,  and  shows  that  a  foreigner  may  have  a  profound 
knowledge  of  the  genius  and  constitution  of  a  language, 
and  yet  be  sorely  puzzled  by  its  niceties  and  subtleties. 
"  If  we  go  back,"  he  says,  "  for  the  purpose  of  thus  tracing 
the  history  of  nouns  to  the  oldest  forms  of  English,  we  will 
there  find  the  method  of  forming  them  from  the  first  and 
simplest  elements"  (page  140).  The  "Edinburgh  Review" 
denounces  the  distinction  of  shall  and  will,  by  their  neglect 
of  which  the  Scotch  are  so  often  bewrayed,  as  one  of  the 
most  capricious  and  inconsistent  of  all  imaginable  irregu- 
larities, and  as  at  variance  not  less  with  original  etymology 
than  with  former  usage.  Prof.  Marsh  regards  it  as  a  verbal 
quibble,  which  will  soon  disappear  from  our  language.  It 
is  a  quibble  just  as  any  distinction  is  a  quibble  to  persons 
who  are  too  dull,  too  lazy,  or  too  careless  to  apprehend  it. 
With  as  much  propriety  might  the  distinction  between  the 
indicative  and  subjunctive  forms  of  the  verb,  or  the  dis- 
tinction between  farther  and  further,  strong  and  robust, 
empty  and  vacant,  be  pronounced  a  verbal  quibble.  Sir 
Edmund  W.  .Head  has  shown  that  the  difference  is  not  one 
which  has  an  existence  only  in  the  pedagogue's  brain,  but 
that  it  is  as  real  and  legitimate  as  that  between  be  and 
am,  and  dates  back  as  far  as  Wickliffe  and  Chaucer,  while 
it  has  also  the  authority  of  Shakspeare. 


PRINCIPAL  BOOKS  CONSULTED. 


Ax<;us.     Hand-Book  of  the  English  Tongue.     London. 
AKISTOTLE.    Rhetoric.    Translated  by  John  Gillies.     London.  l 
SAMUEL  BAILEY.    Discourses  on  Variout  -  London.  lv«'c'. 

BLACKI.EY.     Word-Gossip.    London.  1869.    New  York.  . 
BOWEX.     Treatise  on  Logic.     Boston.  lv 74. 
BREEX.     Modern  English  Literature.     London. 
M.  SCHELE  DE  VERB.    Studies  in  English. 
JOHX  EARLE.    Philology  of  the  English  Tongue.    Oxford.  1871. 
FOWLER.    English  Grammar.    New  York.  1*60. 

F.  W.  FARRAR.     The  Origin  of  Language.     London.  1860. 

Chapters  on  Language.     London.  1S<-".. 

«;AI:XETT.    Philological  Essays,  edited  by  his  Son.     London.  1859. 
FLEMING.     Analysis  of  the  English  Language.    London.  1869. 
GOULD.     Good  English.     New  York.  1867. 

G.  F.  GRAHAM.    A  Book  about  ir,,,Wx.     Tendon.  1869. 
HARRISON.     On  the  English  Language.    London.  1848. 
SIR  EDMUXD  W.  HEAD.     "  Skatt  "  and  "  Will."    London. 
LATHAM.     The  English  Language.     5th  ed.     London.  187-1. 
MARSH.     lectures  on  the  English  Language. 

MAX  MULLER.     Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language.     (First  Se- 
ries.!   N.-w  York.  "1862. 

Lectures  on  the  Science  of  Language.    (Second  Se- 
ries.)   New  York.  1865. 

MILL,  J.  S.     A  System  of  Logic.    New  York.  1869. 
J.  H.  NEWMAX.     The  Idea  of  a  University.    3d  ed.    London.  1^7  '.. 
NOTES  AXD  QUERIES.    London.  1852. 

SHEDD.     Homiletics  and  Pastoral  Theology.     New  York.  1867. 
THOMSON.   Outline  of  the  Necessary  Lairs  of  Thouglit.     New  York. 
SIR  JOHX  STODDART.    The  Philosophy  of  Language.  London.  1s "4. 
SMITH.    Common  Words  triih  Curious  Derirations.    London.  1865. 
HuKXETooKE.    Diversions  of  Purley.    (Ed.  Taylor.)   London.  1860. 
TRENCH.     On  the  Study  of  Words.     13th  ed.    "London.  1869. 

English,  Past  and  Present.     6th  ed.     London.  1868. 
Select  Glossary  of  English  Words.   3d  ed.  London.  1865. 
\VHATELY.     Elements  of  Logic.    New  York.  1865. 

Elements  of  Rhetoric.     New  York.  1866. 

HK\>I.KH;H  WEDGWOOD.    Etymological  Dictionary.    Ijondon.  1X7'J. 
W.  D.  WHITNEY.    Language  and  the  Study  of  Language.      New 

York.  1867. 
The  L^e  and  Growth  of  Language.    New  York. 

E.  P.  WHIFFLE.     Essays  and  Rerieu-s.     Boston.  1856. 
Literature  and  Life.     Boston.  1871. 
ESSAYS  BY  A  BARRISTER.    London.  1862. 


I^DEX. 


A. 

abdicate,  and  desert.  229-30. 

abominable.  3ui'. 

Academy,  the  French,  331. 

accord.  363. 

Adjectives,  reveal  character,  58; 
excessive  use  of.  159-161. 

afflicting.  288. 

agriculturist.  342. 

ah  and  ha,  127. 

alert.  305. 

Alexander,  Dr.  Addison.  on  mon- 
osyllables, 136. 

Alford,  Dean,  his  improprieties  of 
speech.  334. 

Alfred  the  Great,  his  style  of  liv- 
ing. 237. 

allowance,  289. 

all  of  them.  355. 

"all  right!  "65. 

allude,  336.  3-55-357. 

almost,  360. 

alms.  : :-_'!. 

alone.  345. 

Americans,  their  exaggeration. 
160-162. 

among  one  another.  366. 

anecdote.  289. 

Animals,  incapable  of  speech,  11, 

animosity,  296. 

anyhow,  344. 

apology,  221. 

apple-pie  order,  312. 

appreciate,  352. 

aristocrats.  267. 

Aristotle,  on  grand  words.  104. 

Arnold,    Dr.   of   Rugby,   on  the 

style  of  historians,  59. 
artillery.  290. 
Ascham.  Roger,  on  the  study  of 

foreign  tongues,  201. 
assassin,  307. 


astonished,  289. 
1  at,  347. 
at  all.  347. 
atom,  261. 
attraction.  73. 
avocation,  346. 


B. 

Bacon,  Lord,  his  words.  17;  on 
the  power  of  words.  74;  on  ex- 
pert men.  24 1. 

Bailey.  Samuel,  on  Berkeley's  the- 
ory of  vision,  •_'•_'. 

balance,  102-3.  345. 

Balzac,  on  charmed  words,  74; 
anecdote  by,  164. 

banister.  335. 

bankrupt,  298. 

Barrow,  Dr.  Isaac,  his  word-coin- 
ages, 332. 

Bedlam,  321. 

beef-eater,  320. 

Beggars.  27:.'-.;. 

beldam,  294. 
|  belfry,  320. 

Ben  Jonson.  nicknamed,  275. 

Bentley.  Richard,  as  a  stylist.  210. 

Bible,  the  English,  abounds  in 
monosyllables,  130;  beauty  and 
richness  of  its  vocabulary*  176; 
tribute  to  by  a  Catholic,  177. 

"  Billy  Ruffian,"  319. 

bishop,  221,  318. 

bit.  298. 

"bitter  end. "313. 

blackguard.  290. 

blue-stocking.  301. 

blunderbuss,  307. 

Boileau.  on  expression,  185;  on 
the  "  Homoousian  "  controver- 
sy, 215;  his  solecism,  328. 

Bolingbroke,  his  attention  to  his 
style.  339. 

bombast,  290. 


374 


INDEX. 


booby,  307. 

boor,  294. 

bosh,  307. 

boudoir,  311. 

bound,  353. 

Boyle,  Sir  Richard,  on  Lucan,  196. 

bran-new,  317. 

brat,  202. 

Brevity  of  speech,  158,  159. 

bribe,  63. 

brillant,  64. 

Brown,  John,  his  moderation  of 

language,  165. 
Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  on  scholars, 

14;  his  word-coinages,  333. 
Buckle,  on  the  style  of  English 

scholars,  210. 
buffoon,  300. 
Bulwer,   Lytton,    his    "Corporal 

Bunting  "  on  words,  83. 
Burdett,  Sir  Francis,  nicknamed 

by  O'Connell,  269. 
Burke,  nicknamed   "the  Dinner 

Bell, "  266 ;  on  George  Grenville, 

247. 

Burr,  Aaron,  his  brevity,  157. 
but,  342. 
but  that,  347. 
by-law,  305. 
Byron,  on  the  English  language, 

119;  his  use  of  monosyllables, 

132, 133;  his  aid  to  Greece,  139, 

on  the  poverty  of  language,  183, 

J.O4. 

c. 

Caesar,  274. 

caitiff',  291. 

canard,  302. 

Canning,  his  command  of  lan- 
guage, 24,  173,  174. 

canon,  306. 

cant,  300. 

Cant.  138-140,143-151;  political, 
144-147 ;  in  the  meeting-house, 
147;  religious,  147-151. 

caption,  3(1:!. 

Capuchin,  272. 

Carbo,  anecdote  of,  32,  33. 

Carlyle,  his  Teutonic  language, 
106, 


carnival,  355. 

Casuistry,  214. 

caucus,  311. 

causeway,  321. 

Cavalier,  275. 

celebrity,  348.  , 

chaffer,  296. 

chagrin,  306. 

Chalmers,  his  eloquence,  51. 

Character,  gives  force  to  words, 

49-55. 

Charles  V.,  on  the  English  lan- 
guage, 119;  on  the  knowledge 

of  languages,  152. 
Chatham,  his   study  of  Bailey's 

Dictionary,  23;   his  words,  51; 

his  speeches,  156. 
cheat,  309. 
chemist,  290. 
Chesterfield,    Lord,   anecdote  of, 

113;  his  efforts  to  improve  his 

language,  339. 
chevalier  <T  Industrie,  84. 
Choate,  Rufus,  on  the  choice  of 

words,   23;    his  prodigality  of 

words,  162. 
Christian,  272.  _ 
Cicero,  his  choice  of  words.  .">2; 

his  speeches,  156; 
cipher,  322. 
civilization,  223. 
Clarendon,   Lord,   his    solecisms, 

337. 

Classical  studies,  value  of,  201. 
cleave,  323. 
Cobbett,  his  education  and  style, 

205;   his  felicitous  nicknames, 

269. 

coincide,  292. 

Coke,  Sir  Edward,  his  denuncia- 
tion of  Raleigh,  51. 
Coleridge,  on  Shakspeare' swords, 

15;    on  bedridden  truths,  147; 

on  the  history  in  words,  283; 

his  word-coinages,  332. 
color,  325. 
comfortable,  258-9. 
commence,  101. 
community,  364. 
competence,  258-9. 
compulsory,  224. 


INDEX. 


375 


condign,  360. 

conduct,  •'>">•_'. 

confederate.  2(1:1. 

confirmed  invalid,  352. 

contraband.  'JitM. 

Contradictory  meanings,  322-325. 

Controversies,  usually  disputes 
about  words,  261. 

convene,  347. 

Cooper,  Sir  Astley,  anecdote  of,  64. 

copperhead,  264. 

coquet,  291. 

corporeal.  344. 

corpse,  291. 

Corwin,  Gov..  anecdote  of,  117. 

country-dance,  318. 

couple,  360. 

Courier,  P.  L.,  on  abusive  epi- 
thets, 226. 

Couthon.  145,  146. 

Cowley,  his  style,  209. 

Cowper,  William,  his  poetry  and 
letters,  143-4;  on  word-hun- 
ters, 316. 

craft.  295. 

crawfish,  319. 

creative,  234-5. 

criticise,  297. 

Crockett,  David,  on  repetition,  22. 

crushed  out,  346. 

Cudworth.  on  quamquam,  233—4. 

cunning.  295. 

Curiosities  of  Language,  280-325. 

curiosity,  297. 

curmudgeon,  308. 

Curran,  anecdote  of,  279. 

Cuvier,  anecdote  of,  22. 

D. 

dandelion,  319. 

dangerous.  357. 

Dante,  saying  of,  195. 

deacon,  222. 

dear,  323. 

deceiving.  349. 

decimated.  102. 

deduction.  342 

defalcation.  296. 

Definition  of  words,  21-24;  of 
"network"  by  Johnson,  21;  of 
"crab"  by  the  French  Acade- 


my, 22 ;  scientific  and  popular, 
223;  its  importance,  257;  offen 
needs  defining.  201. 

Degradation  of  words,  293-298. 

delinquents,  265. 

De  Maistre.  on  Locke,  225;  on 
Pagan  ideas  and  words,  71. 

De  Medicis,  Catherine,  on  Scali- 
ger's  linguistic  acquisitions,  153. 

Demosthenes,  his  choice  of  words, 
31,  32;  his  brevity  of  speech, 
156;  his  ignorance  of  foreign 
tongues.  209. 

demure,  294. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  on  Romanic 
words,  169,  170;  on  the  inade- 
quacy of  language,  184,  on  the 
literary  style  of  women,  210, 
on  ''paupers,"  259,  on  the 
mischiefs  arising  fiom  sole- 
cisms. 338. 

desultory,  204. 

De  Vere,  Schele,  on  "shall "  and 
"will,"  371. 

dexterity.  299. 

differ  with.  344. 

Diplomatists,  their  equivocation, 
217. 

directly,  353. 

disgraceful  and  indecent.  225. 

Disraeli,  Benj.,  on  the  disputes  of 
synods.  216. 

do,  364. 

doing  good,  247-249. 

Dominican.  272. 

donate.  102 

don't.  349. 

Dormitantius,  271. 

dormouse.  319. 

doubt.  344. 

drive,  365. 

Dryden,  John,  his  translation  of 
the  jEneid.  37;  his  moderniza- 
tions of  Milton  and  Chaucer,  37. 

dun,  331. 

dunce,  297. 

Dundas,  "  Starvation,"  276. 

E. 

education,  228-9. 
egregious,  311, 


376 


IKDEX. 


either,  350. 

either  alternative,  357. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  her  diet,  238; 

Eloquence,  is  in  the  thought,  109; 
Emerson,  on,  110;  uses  simple 
language,  111;  when  most  con- 
quering, 164. 

Emerson,  R.W.,  on  language,  282. 

emigrants,  366. 

English  language  the,  120-122, 
129,  135,  136,171,175;  new  in- 
terest in  its  study,  326. 

enthuse,  363. 

equally  as  well,  353. 

equanimity  of  mind.  348; 

Erskine,  his  education  and  style, 
206;  his  nickname,  269. 

Etymology,  not  a  guide  to  present 
meanings  of  words,  203,  231- 
234;  its  fascination,  280-1;  ex- 
amples of  illusive,  315;  rules 
of,  317. 

Etymology,  of  phrases;  "sleep 
like  a  top,"  "  Penny-come- 
quick, "  "  Shotover, ' '  and  ' '  to 
make  a  fox's  paw,"  320;  "  Bou- 
logne mouth,"  321; 

every,  360. 

evidence,  347. 

Exaggeration  of  language,  159- 

166; 

except,  360. 

excessively,  350. 

exist,  259,  360. 

exorbitant,  292. 

Expletives,  80. 

Expression,  how  to  acquire  grace 

and  purity  of,  838-9. 
extend,  359. 

F. 

facetious,  294. 

faint,  299. 

Fallacies  in  Words,  212-262. 

farce,  303. 

fare  thee  well,  364. 

fast.  297.  322. 

Federalist,  265. 

fellow,  297. 

female,  100,  101. 

final  completion,  348. 


folks,  365. 

foolscap,  318. 

Foreign  philology,  tiot  indispen- 
sable to  mastery  of  English,  200. 
211. 

Foster,  John,  his  choice  of  words. 
30;  on  eloquence,  109. 

Fox,  C.  J.,  his  history  of  the  Revo- 
lution, 171. 

Franklin,  his  education  and  style. 
206. 

freedom,  223. 

Freeman,  E.  A.,  on  the  use  of 
grand  words  in  England.  105. 

freemason,  318. 

French  literature,  its  freedom 
from  solecisms,  etc.,  328. 

French,  the,  their  dislike  for  for- 
eign words,  112. 

from  thence,  352. 

Frondeurs,  267. 

frontispiece,  317. 

fudge,  127. 

Fuller,  Thomas,  on  high-flown 
language,  114;  on  the  style  of 
the  schoolmen,  257;  onetymolo- 

gy,  317. 

G. 

Gambling  at  the  court  of  Louis 

XIV.,  75. 

Garnett,  on  "truth,"  232. 
gene,  64. 

gentleman,  86-88. 
George  I.,  144. 
Gesticulation,    as    a   vehicle    of 

thought,  25. 
gibberish,  305. 
girl,  289. 
gloire,  64. 
"  go  ahead!  "  65. 
Goethe,  on  the  study  of  foreign 

languages.  200;  a  poor  linguist. 

208. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  solecisms, 

336. 

gooseberry,  318. 
gossip,  296. 
got,  for  have,  343. 
gothic,  73. 
Grammatical     knowledge,    why 


INDEX. 


377 


necessary, -340;  Sydney  Smith, 
on,  341. 

Grand  words,  94-122;  use  of  by 
the  English.  105;  of  a  Scotch 
preacher,  107;  effects  of  their 
use,  108,  109. 

gravitation,  221. 

Greeks,  the  ancient,  their  igno- 
rance of  philology,  208,  209. 

grocer,  317. 

Guizot,  on  the  significations  of 
words  in  different  ages,  223. 

H. 

haberdasher.  308. 

had  have,  had  rather,  had  ought 
and  had  better,  347. 

Halifax,  on  trimmers.  274. 

Halleck.  Fitz-Greene,  his  anec- 
dote of  a  Scotch  girl,  115. 

Hall.  Robert,  his  choice  of  words. 
29,  30;  on  Saxon  words,  177, 
178;  his  aping  of  Johnson.  189. 

Hamilton,  Alexander.  157. 

Hamilton,  "  Single-Speech."  275. 

hardships  and  harden,  242-3. 

hawk.  309. 

Hawthorne,  on  the  spells  in 
words.  45. 

Hazlitt,  on  Bonaparte's  nickname ; 
his  story  of  "Tiddy-doll,"  278. 

heaven.  232. 

Higginson,  T.  W.,  on  the  signifi- 
cance of  words,  45. 

hill.  232. 

hip!  hip!  hurrah!  299. 

hoax.  308. 

Hobbes,  on  words,  256. 

hocus-pocus,  306. 

homely,  294. 

Homer,  his  words,  13. 

"Homoousians  "  and  ';  Homoiusi- 
ans."  their  disputes,  215. 

honnetete,  64. 

Horace,  translations  of,  38; 

horrent.  287. 

hospital.  252-3. 

how,  353. 

Huguenot,  273.  304. 

Humboldt,  on  the  study  of  words, 
285. 


humble-pie,  308. 

humbug,  71,  306. 

Hume,  his  style,  33;  his  silence 
when  attacked.  82;  his  argu- 
ment against  miracles,  217, 221. 

humility.  71,  293. 

hypocrite,  312. 

hypostasis,  203. 

I. 

Idealism  and  materialism,  233. 

Idioms.  68. 

idiot,  294. 

"I  exist,"  260. 

Iliad,  the,  untranslatable,  36. 

illy,  343. 

imagination.  204. 

imbecile,  306. 

imbroglio,  102. 

imp.  294. 

impertinent,  221. 

Improprieties  of  speech.  326-571, 
their  frequency  in  English  writ- 
ers, 327,  340.  340,  342;  the  mis- 
chiefs they  cause.  337-8; 

incomprehensible,  291. 

incorrect  orthography,  353. 

indeed,  129. 

Indian  tongues,  314,  315. 

indices,  359. 

indifferent,  221. 

individual.  97. 

"in  our  midst,"  148,  349. 

instances,  288. 

Intensity,  not  a  characteristic  of 
nature,  166. 

Interjections,  125-129;  Home 
Tooke  on,  125;  Max  M  tiller  on, 
127, 128;  Shakspeare's,  129,130. 

intoxicated,  103. 

inveterate.  325. 

is  for  are,  362. 

island,  318. 

Italians,  their  social  dialect,  61. 

its,  367. 

it  were,  344. 

J. 

Jansenists  and  Jesuits,  their  dis- 
putes, 214.  215. 
jeopardize,  357. 


378 


IXDEX. 


Jeffrey,  Francis,  his  artificial  style. 
105. 

Jerusalem  artichoke,  311. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  anecdote  of, 
99;  his  ''Johnsonese  "dialect, 
100,-135;  on  big  words,  109;  on 
cant,  146;  his  spoken  and  writ- 
ten dialects  contrasted,  179;  his 
advice  on  the  formation  of  a 

food  style,   187;    anecdote  of. 
79;  on  the  word  "dun,"  331; 

his  attention  to  his  language, 

339;  his  grammatical  blunders, 

340. 
Johnson.  Edward,  M.D.,  on  right. 

232. 

Jonson,  "en,  275. 
Joubert,  on  Rousseau's  words,  17; 

his  economy  of  words,  157;  on 

style,  191. 

K. 

Keats,  his  study  of  words,  24;  his 
education  and  style,  206;  his 
nickname,  269. 

kennel,  312. 

kidnap.  309. 

knave,  295. 

Knox,  John,  saying  of,  267. 

L. 

lady,  302. 

Lamb,  Charles,  his  nickname,269. 

"  Lamb  and  Pickles,"  319. 

landed  proprietor,  74,  222. 

Landor,  W.  S.,  his  use  of  mono- 
syllables, 133. 

Language,  the  armoury  of  the 
mind,  14;  its  various  uses,  26, 
27;  its  educational  value,  28; 
the  limit  as  well  as  the  feeder  of 
thought,  28;  community  of,  es- 
sential to  a  people's  unity.  46- 
48;  a  conquered  people's  not 
easily  extirpated,  47,  48;  an 
index  to  the  mental  and  moral 
character,  56-72;  a  key  to  na- 
tional character,  60-72;  how 
enriched  or  impoverished,  60, 
61 ;  peculiarities  of  the  French, 
62-65;  characteristics  of  the 


Greek  and  of  the  Latin.  66;  the 
Anglo-Saxon,  67;  the  Italian, 
67;  of  Van  Dieman's  land.  70; 
its  influence  upon  opinion,  72- 
74,  84;  bad  leads  to  bad  deeds. 
80;  jesting,  81;  effects  of  its  de- 
basement, 90.  91;  the  English 
after  the  Norman  conquest,  104; 
of  art  and  science,  115-117;  ex- 
cellence of  the  English,  118-122; 
the  English  largely  monosylla- 
bic, 135, 136;  conventional,  138; 
excessive  study  of,  153;  quali- 
ties of  the  Saxon,  170, 171, 174. 
178-181;  the  English,  compos- 
ite, 171 ;  obscure  caused  by  ob- 
scurity of  thought,  182. 183;  in- 
adequate to  express  exactly,  or 
all  our  thoughts,  183-185,257-9; 
yet  not  barren  to  deep  thinkers, 
186;  its  magical  effects.  193, 
195,  196;  Goldwin  Smith  on, 
193;  not  a  mere  collection  of 
words,  234;  curiosities  of,  280- 
325 ;  changes  with  the  change  of 
ideas,  286-329;  character  of  the 
French,  328 ;  may  be  excessively 
refined,  329;  constantly  grow- 
ing, 330;  how  to  improve  in  its 
use,  338,  339 ;  its  marvels. 

Languages,  defects  of  Pagan,  70, 
71 ;  superiority  of  monosyllabic, 
134;  the  study  of  foreign.  200. 
202;  Indian,  314,  315. 

Lavoisier,  his  terminology.  22. 

law  of  nature.  220. 

least,  352. 

leave,  354. 

lee,  323. 

less,  345. 

let.  289,  323. 

Lewes,  G.  H..  on  frankness,  137. 

"  Liberty,  Equality,  and  Frater- 
nity," 224. 

lie  and  lay,  345. 

lieutenant,  318. 

light,  243. 

like  I  did.  345. 

likewise,  346. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  anecdote  of, 
271. 


INDEX. 


379 


listener,  63. 

Locke,  on  the  philology  of  the 

Greeks  and  the  Romans.  208-9; 

his  obscurity.  225. 
locofoco.  204. 
London.  252. 
looks  beautifully.  354. 
loyalty.  292. 
Lutheran.  272. 
luxury.  236-239. 

M. 

Macaulay,  on  Milton's  words,  16; 
his  eulogy  of  Saxon  words.  178; 
on  Johnson's  language.  179;  on 
purity  of  style,  210. 

Mackintosh.  Sir  James,  Sydney 
Smith  on  his  lack  of  simplicity, 
105. 

majesty,  67. 

'•  majesty  of  the  people,"  225. 

manner.  325. 

Mansel.  his  doctrine  of  conscious- 
ness. 259.  260. 

manumit.  312. 

Marsh.  Prof.  G.  P.,  on  Demosthe- 
nes. 32 ;  on  the  study  of  English, 
208 ;  on  the  Italian  language,62. 

Martineau,  James,  on  the  power 
of  words,  92. 

masses.  349. 

meddle.  202. 

megrim,  321. 

menial.  294. 

Methodist,  272. 

Mezzofanti,  Cardinal,  152, 153. 

Mill,  J.  S.,  on  traditional  maxims, 
etc.,  147;  on  the  misapplication 
of  words,  222;  on  right,  249. 

Miller,  Hugh,  his  education  and 
style,  207. 

Milton,  his  words,  15, 16;  on  the 
debasement  of  language,  91; 
his  use  of  monosyllables,  132; 
his  style,  191,  211. 

minion.  295. 

minute,  325. 

Mirabeau  on  words,  13. 

Miracles,  Hume's  argument 
ayainst  them  considered,  211- 
220. 


miscreant,  291. 

miser,  204. 

mistaken,  323. 

modern,  288. 

money,  214. 

monomania,  84. 

Monosyllables,  their  expressive- 
ness, 124,  125,  130-134;  in  the 
Bible,  130. 

Montaigne,  on  verbal  definitions, 
etc.,  250;  on  usage,  331. 

Moon-Alford  controversy,  326. 

Moore,  Thomas,  anecdote  of  30, 3 1 ; 
on  the  purity  of  the  Greek  style, 
209. 

more  perfect,  361. 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  on  the  English 
tongue,  120. 

Morris,  Gouverneur,  anecdote  by, 
77. 

mortal,  324. 

Motley,  on  the  origin  of  "  the  Beg- 
gars," 273. 

mountebank,  299. 

Miiller,  Max,  on  interjections;  127, 
128;  on  etymology,  317. 

murder,  243-245. 

musket,  202. 

Mussulman,  365. 

mutual,  358. 

myself,  354. 

mystery,  289. 

N. 

Names,  their  supposed  mystic  im- 
port. 43-4;  among  the  Ro- 
mans, 43;  their  effect  on  the 
reception  of  scientific  truth.  78, 
79;  invented  by  the  Greeks  and 
the  Romans  for  crimes,  85; 
given  by  employers  to  em- 
ployed, 91 ;  give  us  no  concep- 
tions of  things,  233;  their  sig- 
nificance. 270. 

Napoleon  I.,  his  talk  of  "  my 
glory,"  58,  59;  his  style.  193; 
his  nickname,  266 ;  on  epithets, 
267. 

naturalist,  290. 

nature  and  art,  239. 

negotiate,  311. 


380 


INDEX. 


nervous.  322. 

never,  351. 

Newman,  3.  H.,  on  translation, 
41-13. 

nice.  305.  358. 

Nicknames.  263-279;  political. 
264.  272:  their  force  in  contro- 
versy, 264;  why  effective,  268; 
theological,  268  ;  friendly,  269; 
their  origin,  269-71 ;  of  Conger, 
Sandwich.  Peel,  Russell,  and 
Disraeli,  276;  made  of  compli- 
mentary epithets,  277 ;  of  chil- 
dren and  women,  277. 

nirvana,  77. 

no,  124,  353. 

Nominalists  and  Realists,  their 
disputes,  213. 

nowadays,  334. 

nude,  103. 

O. 

O'Connell,  Daniel,  his  political 
ph/ases.  146;  on  Acts  of  Park' a- 
ment.  251. 

of.  346. 

officious,  294. 

off  of.  361. 

oh,  126. 

old.  227-8. 

older.  364. 

on  to.  364. 

overflown,  364. 

owl,  309. 

P. 

Pagan,  284. 
palsy,  321. 

Pambos,  story  of,  150. 
pantaloon.  308. 
paradise.  293. 
paramour,  295. 
paraphernalia,  357,  358. 
parasite,  221,  309. 
parliament,  222. 
parlor.  311. 
parson.  297,  308. 
parts.  292. 
party.  348. 
Patkul,  145. 


pedant,  202. 

pensive,  304. 

people.  361. 

personalty,  363. 

pet,  307. 

petrel.  306. 

petty.  307. 

Phidias,  saying  of.  194. 

Philologists,     sometimes     verbo- 

maniacs,  316. 
piety,  25o. 
plagiarism.  311. 
Poetry,   artificiality  of  British  in 

the    eighteenth    century,    141. 

142. 

policy,  318. 
polite,  290. 

Political    economists,    their    dis- 
putes, 213. 
poltroon.  303. 
Pope.  Alexander,  on  small  words, 

123;  on  conventional  language, 

142. 
Popes,  the,  their  management  of 

theological  controversies,  216. 
porpoise.  319. 
post,  322-3. 
practical.  245,  247. 

Practice,  325. 
reaching,  simplicity  in,  117. 
Premier.  273. 
prevent,  289. 
preventative.  357. 
previous,  352. 
priest,  221. 
Prolixity,  158. 
property.  301. 
proposition,  352. 
proven,  352. 
psha,  127. 
punctual.  290. 
Puritan,  274. 

Q. 

Quaker,  274. 

quandary,  299. 

quantity,  355. 

quarter-sessions  rose,  319. 

quinsy.  321. 

Quintilian,  on  discourse.  56. 

quiz,  303. 


IXDEX. 


381 


R. 

racy,  303. 

raising  the  rent,  366. 

rascal.  290. 

recommend,  343. 

regeneration,  293. 

relevant.  292. 

rendition,  359. 

representative,  227. 

resent,  296. 

restive.  355. 

retaliate,  295.  325. 

revolt,  345. 

right.  232,  249-50.308. 

ringleader,  202. 

rip.  324. 

Robertson,  F.  W..  on  words  of 

calumny.  81;    on  talk  without 

deeds,    150-1  ;    on  the  use  of 

superlatives.  165. 
Robinson.  "  Bootjack."  275. 
Romanic  words,  when  preferable, 

170-173.  176-181. 
Roscius.  the  actor,  25. 
rosemary.  319. 
Rossini,  anecdote  of,  151. 
Roundhead,  274. 
Rump,  275. 
Runes,   their    supposed    magical 

power,  43. 

S. 

sacrament.  222,  293. 

sagacious.  289. 

Sainte-Beuve,  on  Napoleon's  style, 
193. 

salary,  309. 

Salutation,  national  forms  of,  68- 
70. 

same,  235. 

sarcasm,  309. 

saunterer,  298. 

savage,  203. 

Savages,  their  language.  315. 

Saxon,  its  brevity  and  simplicity, 
134.  170.  171;  its  suggestive- 
ness,  174  ;  its  freedom  from 
equivocation,  255,  256. 

Saxon  Words,  or  Romanic?  168- 
181. 

scamp.  294. 


scarcely,  364. 

Scarlett,  Sir  James,  his  speeches. 

157. 
Schiller,  on  the  study  of  foreign 

languages,  209. 
Scholarship,  modern,  153. 
schooner,  310. 

Science,  its  language,  115-117. 
Scott,  Gen.,  his  nickname,  266. 
scrupulous.  311. 
secede,  293. 
second  causes,  220. 
secret,  288. 

Selden,  on  the  fitness  of  words,  54. 
seldom,  or  never.  351. 
self-love  and  selfishness,  227. 
self-murder,  244,  245. 
seraphim,  361. 
servant,  310. 
servitude.  223. 
setting-room.  361. 
sexton,  299. 
Seymour,    Lord    Henry,    dispute 

about  the  words  in    his  will, 

252-256. 
Shakspeare.  his  words,  15,  52.  53; 

his  use  of  Saxon  and  Romanic 

words.  181;  his  education,  204; 

his  use  of  "shall  "  and  "will," 

368. 

shaU  and  will,  366-371. 
shamefaced,  318. 
Sharp,  Dr.,  anecdote  of.  149. 
Shibboleths,  their  influence,  76, 

77 ;  religious,  78. 
shoot,  320. 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  on  the  ballad 

of  Chevy  Chase,  196;  on  style, 

340. 

sign,  314. 
silly,  294. 
simple,  296. 
simplicity,  240. 
sin,  sinner,  70. 
sincere,  280. 
sit,  351. 
Slang,  332. 
slave,  310. 
Small  words,  123-136 ;  Pope  on, 

123,  124;  characteristic  of  the 

English   tongue.  129 :    Shaks- 


382 


INDEX. 


peare's  use  of,  131,  132  ;  By- 
ron's use  of,  132. 

Smith,  Sydney,  his  style,  191 ;  on 
the  old  times,  228;  his  word- 
coinages,  333  ;  his  solecisms, 
341;  on  the  study  of  grammar, 
841. 

snob, 305. 

solecism,  309. 

somerset,  320. 

sophist.  221. 

South,  Robert,  on  popular  catch- 
words, 74,  75;  on  verbal  magic, 
83, 84;  on  brevity  of  speech,  159. 

Southey,  Robert,  on  nicknaming 
children  and  women,  277. 

Spaniards,  their  love  of  long 
names,  113. 

sparrowgrass,  319. 

species,  241. 

speculation,  294. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  on  the  brevity 
of  Saxon  words,  134. 

spirit,  233. 

spirituel,  64. 

spoonsful,  364. 

Spurgeon,  Charles  H.,  on  religious 
cant,  148. 

squirrel,  309. 

Stanhope,  Lady  Hester,  on  her 
poverty,  259. 

Stanley,  Lord,  on  Saxon  words, 
168; 169. 

Stedman,  E.  C.,  on  Swinburne's 
words,  18. 

stopping,  358. 

Story,  Judge,  on  the  difficulty  of 
framing  statutes  clearly,  251. 

stranger,  314. 

Style,  characteristics  of  a  good,  29 ; 
the  vital  element  of  literary  im- 
mortality, 33 ;  an  index  to  a  his- 
torian's character,  59;  simplici- 
ty of,  114,  115,  164;  sensation- 
alism in,  162-164;  the  tran- 
scendental, 182;  how  to  acquire 
a  good,  187,  193-197;  depends 
on  man  and  his  theme,  188; 
should  be  individual,  189;  is 
the  incarnation  of  thought,  189; 
differences  of,  190,  191;  every 


age  has  its  own,  191 ;  the  kind 

demanded  to-day,  192;   should 

be  vivid,  196. 
substance,  203. 
succeed,  365. 
such,  353. 
summons,  321. 
sun,  260. 
supercilious,  310. 
superior,  349. 
Superlatives,  166,  167. 
surname,  318. 
sycophant,  309 
Synonymes.  29. 
Swiss,  the,  Fuller  on  language  of, 

67. 

T. 

tabby, 310. 

tale,  287. 

Talleyrand,  why  successful  as  a 
diplomatist,  144. 

Taylor,  "  Chicken,"  276. 

Taylor,  Henry,  on  writers  of  17th 
century,  20. 

team,  253-256. 

the  above,  348. 

then,  348. 

Theological  disputes,  214-216. 

theory,  245-247. 

thief,  293. 

thing,  291. 

thought,  291. 

thrall,  314. 

tidy,  290. 

toad-eater,  300. 

tobacconist,  291. 

Tooke,  Home,  on  interjections, 
125-6 ;  on  particles,  231  ;  on 
truth,  230-1. 

topsy-turvy,  299. 

Tory,  272. 

to,  sign  of  the  infinitive,  363. 

Townsend,  Lady,  concerning 
Whitefield,  149. 

tragedy,  202. 

Translations,  necessarily  imper- 
fect, 33-43;  of  the  Iliad,  by 
Pope,  Cowper,  Chapman,  bird 
Derby,  and  Bryant,  37  ;  of  the 
.Eneid,  by  Dryden,  37. 


IXDEX. 


383 


Translators,  their  blunders,  40. 

"  transmutation  of  species."  241-2. 

transubstantiation,  77. 

treacle,  322. 

Trench,  Archbishop,  on  the  sig- 
nificance of  names,  270. 

tribulation,  309. 

trifling  minutiae,  359. 

trimmer,  274. 

trivial,  303. 

truth,  231-2. 

try,  349. 

try  and,  365. 

two  good  ones,  366. 

Tyler,  President,  his  nickname, 
266. 

tyrant,  221. 

U. 

n.irly,  362. 
understanding,  203. 

unity,  230. 

unloose,  324. 

unravel,  324 

Usage,  only  a  presumptive  test  of 

purity  of  speech,  333-4. 
usury,  291. 

V. 

vagabond,  295. 

varlet,  295. 

Verbal  disputes,  effects  of,  261-2. 

Verbal  vice,  its  effects,  80'. 

Verbiage,  American,  154-5. 

Vigilantius,  271. 

villain,  202. 

villein,  294. 

violation  of  nature,  218. 

Virgil,  his  attention  to  style,  31. 

virtual  representation,  217. 

virtuoso,  61. 

Voltaire,  on  English  speech,  130. 

Volubility,  156. 

W. 

Walton,  Izaak,  education  and  style 
of,  205 ;  on  the  word  "  rip,"  324. 
was,  366. 

Washington,  his  silence,  82. 
we,  140,141. 
wealth,  214,  301. 


wearies,  344. 

Webster,  Daniel,  his  study  of  the 
Dictionary,  23;  his  weighty 
words,  50;  his  simplicity  of 
speech,  110;  his  avoidance  of 
exaggeration,  166. 

Wellington,  his  sense  of  duty,  58. 

Whately,  Archbishop,  his  sim- 
plicity of  language,  109;  on  ex- 
perience, 217;  his  treatise  on 
synonymes,  226;  on  ambiguous 
words,  236. 

whether,  351. 

Whig,  272. 

Whipple,  Edwin  P.,  on  Coke's 
words,  51;  on  Chaucer's,  Ed- 
wards' and  Barrow's  words,  52; 
on  the  suggestiveness  of  Shaks- 
peare's  diction,  52, 53 :  his  style, 
806,  207. 

Whitefield,  his  use  of  interjec- 
tions, 50. 

White,  Richard  Grant,  on  style, 
193. 

Whittington  and  his  cat,  origin  of 
the  story,  320. 

whole,  357. 

whole,  entire,  complete  and  total, 
365. 

widow,  289. 

Wilberforce,  his  letters  contrasted 
with  Cowper's,  143. 

William  the  Conqueror,  his  mode 
of  living,  237. 

wiseacre,  318. 

wit,  292,  324. 

woman,  302. 

Women,  their  style  as  writers,  209, 
210. 

Word-coining,  94,  95,  332,  333. 

Word-hunters,  316. 

Words,  their  significance,  11-54; 
Novalis  on,  12 ;  Mirabeau  on, 
13;  Homer's,  13;  Job  on,  13; 
Solomon  on,  13 ;  the  incarnation 
of  thought,  14 ;  of  men  of  genius, 
14,  15 ;  Shakspeare's,  15, 52, 53 ; 
Milton's,  15,  16;  Bacon's,  17; 
Montaigne's,  17;  Rousseau's, 
17;  Tennyson's,  18;  De  Quin- 
cey's,  19;  Whitefield's,  49; 


384 


IXDEX. 


Fox's,  50 ;  Daniel  Webster's, 
50  ;  Chatham's,  51 ;  of  writers 
of  17th  century,  20,  21 ;  knowl- 
edge required  for  their  defi- 
nition, 21-23;  definition  of, 
21,  256;  Rufus  Choate  on  the 
choice  of,  23 ;  Canning's  com- 
mand of,  24 ;  how  far  necessary 
to  thought,  24-26;  comprehen- 
sive, 27 ;  synonymous  discrimi- 
nated, 29 ;  William  Pitt's  com- 
mand of,  29;  Robert  Hall's 
choice  of,  29;  John  Foster's, 
30;  Thomas  Moore's,  30;  choice 
of  by  the  Greek  and  Roman 
writers,  31-33 ;  Cicero's  use  of, 
32;  rarely  equivalent  in  differ- 
ent tongues,  34, 35 ;  their  necro- 
mantic power,  35;  their  sup- 
posed sorcery,  43, 44  ;  their  mys- 
tic power,  45-46 ;  made  potent 
by  the  man  behind  them,  48-53 ; 
their  significance  disclosed  by 
the  experiences  of  life,  54,  55 ; 
the  morality  in,  56-93 ;  the  only 
test  of  thought,  72 ;  their  power, 
73-80, 90 ;  Bacon  on  their  power, 
74 ;  their  influence  upon  authors, 
79 ;  their  sway  in  politics,  82 ; 
hypocritical,  83 ;  use  of  by  auc- 
tioneers, 89, 90 ;  they  never  die, 
93;  grand,  94-122;  the  use  of 
foreign,  112;  small,  123-136; 
without  meaning,  137-151 ; 
their  meaning  worn  off  by 
handling,  147 ;  some  abuses  of, 
152-167;  'Saxon,  when  to  be 
used,  134,  168-181;  when  Ro- 
manic to  be  used,  1Q8-181 ;  the 
secret  of  apt,  182-211;  are 
symbols  only,  185;  their  ar- 


rangement on  the  battle-fields 
of  thought,  197-199;  fallacies 
in,  2 12-262;  dualism  in,  213; 
their  changes  of  meaning,  22 1, 
223;  question -begging,  226; 
cannot  inform  us  about  things, 
233;  hint  more  than  they  ex- 
press, 234;  in  legal  instruments 
are  things,  251;  used  ambigu- 
ously in  statutes,  251;  imperfect 
representations  of  thought,  '2~>1 ; 
mean  different  things  to  differ- 
ent persons,  258-261;  their 
poetry,  282;  the  history  in,  283- 
286 ;  changes  in  their  meaning, 
286-298 ;  their  degradation,  293- 
298 ;  of  illusive  etymology,  '•>  1 5- 
322 ;  how  corrupted,  316 ;  with 
contradictory  meanings,  322- 
325;  nicety  in  their  use,  329, 
337;  common,  that  were  once 
novelties,  330-1 ;  a  test  of  good 
breeding,  335 ;  effects  of  their 
misuse,  338. 

Wordsworth,  his  purity  of  lan- 
guage, 334 ;  his  use  of  "  shall 
and  "will,"  369. 

wormwood,  320. 

would,  370. 

Writer,  a  brilliant,  described,  188. 

X. 

Xenophon,  on  the  luxury  of  the 
Persians,  238. 


yes,  124. 
zero,  322. 


Y. 
Z. 


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